


The Unforgivables

by suliswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Angst and Romance, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dark, Drama, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence, War, War Era, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliswrites/pseuds/suliswrites
Summary: Set during Deathly Hallows. After Ron leaves, Harry & Hermione barely survive a Death Eater attack and are forced to take Lucius as their prisoner. Once back at the tent, Hermione is left alone to watch him. Mind games and power play ensue. An astonishingly powerful elemental magic is growing within Hermione that she has no idea how to control. His every infuriating action seems to provoke it. An offer is made. Can they use each other towards survival?Warnings: Dark, Adult, Violence, War, Sexual Content





	1. Our Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Readers. This story takes place in the middle of Deathly Hallows. As usual, I own nothing - all rights belong to the brilliant J.K. Rowling. Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review.

**The Unforgivables** by Suliswrites

Chapter One: Our Little Secret

**.................**

Harry froze in horror. "I don't have the locket," he muttered, pacing around the tent, turning out his pockets. "It must have fallen off." He looked up into Hermione's eyes, the chill of fear hitting both of them.

If they had left it in the graveyard, the Death Eaters would surely find it. The task had seemed impossible already, but to lose one of the Horocruxes - there might be no way of regaining their upper hand. Once Voldemort knew what they were up to, it was all over.

"Accio Locket!" Hermione flicked her wand, desperately. The tent was still. Light from the lantern's flame flickered around the room against the shadowed canvas walls, but nothing came.

Her stomach dropped and they looked at each other. Harry set his jaw and took out his wand. "I have to go back for it, we don't have a choice. Watch him, Hermione - and _stay here_."

Before Hermione could say a word of protest, before she could plead with him and make him understand the madness of the risk he was taking, Harry was gone in a swirling pop. She stood alone in the tent, body still buzzing from the fight and all of the fear she had felt that night.

Now suddenly after all of the noise and adrenaline and spells whirling around her, she was so still. That's when she realized her ear was bleeding. Her hand came to the crook of her jaw and felt the small trickle of liquid there.

_Damn it, Harry._ _What if they're waiting for you on the other side? What if you don't come back?_

She wanted to apparate after him, but then she remembered, she was not alone. _He_ was on the other side of that canvas wall, nothing holding him but a simple binding spell against a tree. _Why in hell did they bring him here?_ It was absolute madness, every decision they'd made tonight.

Three long months had gone by since Ron left.

Day after day passed, living in silence together in the woods, waiting for some plan, some next step to show itself. When they'd finally decided to visit Godric's Hollow they knew it was a risk, that it might likely mean suicide - but what other choice did they have? They couldn't sit waiting for a safe step to suddenly appear. Every day more innocent people were being taken and murdered, every night Lee Jordan ran off the names of new victims on the Potterwatch radio broadcast. Hope was draining out of them, drop by drop.

And still no word from Ron. Nothing. _How could he?_

Of course the Death Eaters had been waiting for them when they arrived.

Not two steps through the cemetery gates and four had appeared before them in a rush of black cloaks. Within seconds hexes flashed all around them like lightning, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and they ran, dodging and disarming as they went.

Harry turned and threw " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " and one of them crumpled in a black mass on the ground. The other three continued after them, a low and raspy male voice taunting "Come to see yer parents, Potter? Now they'll get to watch you squirm..."

Hermione gripped Harry's arm tighter. They took shelter behind a large tree and Hermione whipped around the trunk - "Reducto!" The statue of a large marble angel burst into a thousand pieces, hitting one of the hooded figures and knocking them down. They took off running again through the snow. The remaining two were gaining on them.

Harry held tight onto Hermione's hand as they ran deeper and deeper into the cemetery, jumping over tombstones, winding around trees. If they could just throw them off enough to get a moment to apparate safely together - it was crucial that they weren't separated, or they'd never figure out how to get back to the same rendezvous point in the forest.

A flash of red flew past Harry's head and he dodged it quickly but tripped over a headstone. Hermione grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him up, pushing him back into a sprint, throwing "Impedimenta!" over her shoulder. She looked back quickly to see if it had hit either of them but she had missed.

Suddenly a leg lock jinx took Harry down fast. Hermione spun on the spot and ducked as another spell came speeding past her shoulder, barely missing.

Harry was trying to crawl to where his wand had fallen, still bound in the jinx. The figure hurled another flash, this time green, just past Hermione's head. Harry had reached his wand and quickly removed the spell from his legs. Another flash of green, inches from her leg.

 _They may want_ ** _him_** _alive, but they're shooting to_ ** _kill me_**...

"RUN, Hermione!" yelled Harry as he shot back at them.

She ran further into the shadowy trees past the statues. Behind her, she could hear Harry fighting with the Death Eater. And there were still two voices - _still Harry's voice,_ Hermione thought. As long as she still heard his voice everything might still be alright. She held onto the sound until she had run so far that both had faded and all she could hear was the crunching of her own boots in the snow, echoing against the trees that now surrounded her.

She slowed, panting, scanning the horizon.  _Where is the fourth Death Eater? Where has he gone?_

She was deep into a forest at the end of the cemetery now. The trees shielded much of the moonlight, and the new, dark stillness was terrifying.

_Where is the fourth?_

She held her wand before her, trying to keep her arm from shaking, watching for any movement, any sound.

_"Leviocorpus Incarcerous!"_

Suddenly her feet left the ground, and she was hanging in the air by her ankles, her arms pinned to her sides. Merlin help her, she'd dropped her wand.

She tried to make sense of the trees now below and the snow dappled ground now above. The hooded figure stepped slowly into view, till his masked face was inches from hers. He walked around her in a circle, wand outstretched. Hermione held her breath.

_Oh please, Harry. Now would be a good time._

The man stopped behind her and she felt his hot breath pierce the cool air on the side of her cheek.

"Where's your pet Weasel, girl? The fear too much for him? Did he crawl back into his little hole?" the drawling voice whispered into her ear.

_Lucius Malfoy._

Hermione's stomach turned and a chill shot down her spine. _Why hasn't he just killed me?_ And then a worse thought: _What does he plan to do to me before he kills me?_ _Oh Harry, please get here..._

He removed his mask with a flick of his wand and came to face her, his head cocked to one side, examining her features. The moonlight shone off his platinum hair and reflected up at him from the snow. He had never looked so cold to her; never looked more like a Roman statue, eyes ablaze in victory.

He was inches from her face. "You may not be the most valued prize of the night, Granger, but the dark lord will be _overjoyed_ to meet you. 'The mudblood hero' - ' _the brightest - witch - of - her - age_ ,'" he sneered, parsing out each word, disgusted. "Shall I teach you your _proper_ place? Hmm?"

Hermione spat in his face.

He inhaled sharply shutting his eyes, then slowly exhaled, gritting his teeth and wiping it away. In an instant he grabbed her hanging hair and yanked it back savagely, exposing her throat to him. Hermione yelped involuntarily. How she wished she hadn't given him the satisfaction of making that sound.

He gave one short laugh under his breath and leaned into her till his lips were at her ear. " _I've done you the great honor of being a gentleman thus far - I don't have to be."_ Then he took her earlobe between his teeth and bit down _hard_. " _Do you prefer me like this?"_ he whispered.

A small cry escaped Hermione in her shock. He pulled back, and taking a tighter grip on her hair, looked her dead in the eyes.

 _"_ You will learn to be grateful for me, Granger. Consider yourself lucky it wasn't Greyback who captured you. If you do not _obey_ me, however, you will not be so fortunate. _Do you understand?"_

Hermione instinctually gave a brief nod.

" _Good._ Now, where is the Weasley boy? If, as it seems, he's no longer traveling with you..." He traced a gloved finger along her cheek, "then perhaps I should seek him out at his home?"

Hermione tried her best to keep her face impassive, but she couldn't hide her fear.

"No?" He asked, caressing her other cheek, "Then maybe dear little _sister_ might know where he's gone to..."

_"Fuck you, Malfoy."_

He grinned, jerking her hair violently once more, then leaned in, whispering in a low growl:

 _"_ Oh, mudblood. Don't worry _\- I'll have you begging at my feet before this night is over_."

He released her hair with a shove, and began to roll up his sleeve, cuff by cuff exposing the dark mark, tight across his arm. He lifted his wand towards it -

" _STUPEFY_!"

Suddenly the two of them were blasted backward. Hermione hit the snow with a thud. It took great effort to find her footing, as the world flipped back around. She saw her wand lying in the snow a few feet away and dove for it. Malfoy seemed to have hit a tree; he was splayed on the ground beneath it, just coming up onto his knees.

Hermione looked across the forest - Harry was sprinting towards them, he had thrown the jinx from several yards away. He was about to hit Malfoy with another, but she was determined to do it first. "STUPEFY!" she yelled.

Malfoy flew back like a whip against the tree. Disoriented and gasping for breath, he was starting to stand, moving for his wand.

All of the things he'd said to her roared into fury within her chest. The rage from his words sent heat pulsing like fire through every part of her. The rage of Ron leaving. The rage of this war - the pain - the loss - the hopelessness. Without thinking, she rushed towards him and aimed directly at his heart - " _CRUCIO_."

A jet of red light burst out of her wand, hitting him square in the chest, the pain shaking his imposing figure to ground.

She wanted it, _meant_ it - and it worked.

He let out a guttural scream as Hermione carried the curse towards him, pushing it stronger into his body with every step. Malfoy's head flew back in agony, he was screaming again. The capillaries in his eyes were bursting - his teeth clenched against the pain.

He shrunk into a ball as she stood above him, the light continuing to stream from her wand until Harry grabbed her arm, "HERMIONE, STOP!"

She felt dizzy and looked up into Harry's face. There was such shock and fear in his eyes. He was staring at her as though he'd never seen her before. And when she looked back down, she found that Malfoy was unconscious.

Harry grabbed her by the shoulders, "What were you doing? _Hermione! What were you doing?"_

She shook her head and looked to the ground, "Let's just get out of here."

Harry nodded and looked to Malfoy. "What about him?"

Hermione looked, the dark mark was staring up at them from his lifeless arm. "He knows about Ron, Harry. He'd have them all after him at the Burrow in an instant when he comes to."

She could see a look of fear darken across Harry's eyes. He was thinking of Ginny, she knew it.

"A prisoner, then," he said firmly. "Maybe he'll prove useful."

And without another word, Harry took Hermione's hand and gripped onto Malfoy's arm, and they were gone in a 'pop.'

..............

Hermione snapped back to the present. She had been standing frozen in the middle of the tent alone, staring at her wand. She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the canvas door.

Taking a few steps towards it, she went still, listening. He should have awoken by now, but all was silent. She inhaled a determined breath, raised her wand, and stepped out.

Lucius Malfoy was bound in Harry's Incarcerous spell, seated on the ground against a large pine tree, vines wrapped tight from his torso up to his neck. Two lanterns hung from the entrance of the tent, and only a faint orange glow reached him in the darkness.

He was more disheveled than she'd ever seen him - Azkaban had already scorched his aristocratic features, and the pain she'd inflicted earlier this evening showed in dark circles under his eyes, pale blond strands falling across them. But for all of it, he still looked like some mythological god, born from fire and stone.

He tilted his head in curiosity toward the tent, a calm anticipation on his sharp features. As Hermione stepped out into the light an undeniable flicker of excitement crossed his face.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. He looked to the tent and then back to her. "Alone again are we?"

Hermione said nothing.

"Now why in the world, would he leave you here with me?"

 _He may be a psychotic pig, but he's not an idiot._

"I wonder..." he continued. "Must be something awfully important."

"Perhaps you should be more concerned with the fact that you are now at  _my_ mercy, Malfoy."

"Indeed. Clearly I was mistaken - It seems _I_ am the one to be begging at _your_ feet this evening." There was a slight trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips as his eyes ran down her along her body to the ground.

"I never would have thought you up to it, Granger. An Unforgivable - and with such _feeling_. Tell me - was I your first?"

The innuendo was not lost on her. His twisted mind. He truly seemed to take pride in somehow having taken her 'dark magic virginity.'

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance, Malfoy?"

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued by the question. "I could ask you the same thing. No one here to stop you."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. If someone else were standing in her shoes, they might do it. If any of the Order were here now, they might. But she couldn't. She knew that. For some reason Draco's face flickered into her mind. She hated remembering that he had a family. For the first time, she hated the deep well of empathy that lived in her.

"What made you choose it for me?" he asked, "I didn't use the Cruciatus on you."

"You would have."

"No," he grinned, "I had a few other things in mind..." Somehow with these words the look in his eyes changed. Hermione felt like prey, a mouse in an open field.

She raised her wand, suppressing a shudder, thinking how close she came to that version of reality. She almost wanted to ask, wanted to know what it would have been. What her end would have looked like. But he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

"I've always preferred the Imperius. There's nothing like watching someone do something they don't want to do. Enjoy something they don't want to enjoy..." a smirk tugged at his mouth. "Care to give that one a try? Our little secret. Your precious chosen one need never know."

If she were being honest with herself, it was truly a tempting thought. Hermione's mind began to race through all of the things she might be able to make him reveal, ways she could make him give up precious secrets of the other side - even ways she could make him hurt himself. But she'd never give him the satisfaction of doing what he wanted her to do.

"The power _is_ intoxicating, isn't it?" he bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. "Knowing that you could do - any - little - thing - to me. Right now. Feels good, doesn't it?"

It did. Being the one with the power felt so new and so good. Hermione couldn't bring herself to lower her wand, to do anything. She was ashamed - that look in Harry's eyes of shock and fear, and now the look of complete knowing in the cold grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. She wanted him to stop - she wanted to hex that look off of his face.

"So, mudblood...What would you like to do to me?"

Hermione stepped swiftly forward and shoved her wand below his jaw, forcing his head back. She was barely more than a foot from him now. She could feel the heat radiating off of his skin in the cold night. Their breath lingered like ghosts in the air. He looked calmly up at her, smiling, waiting - almost as if he were about to receive a present.

Suddenly Hermione pulled back her wand and slashed it across the inside of her fingers - "Parvas Diffindo." Blood rose to the surface, and she took two fingers and drew a long red streak roughly across his stubbled cheek. "Here is my _filthy_ blood, Malfoy," she said through clenched teeth.

Touching him was thrilling in its danger. She couldn't help but envision petting a snake. He did not move. He did not break their eye contact.

She expected him to cringe, expected him to rage at her, curse her, struggle against his ropes to break free - but he stayed completely still. His eyes were gleaming with excitement, taking her in completely. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do next.

Hermione began to streak a line down his other cheek. In an instant, he turned his head and took her fingers in his mouth, sucking them hard.

She gasped and pulled her hand back.

As he watched the bursts of red rise in her cheeks, his face lit up with pleasure. He licked her blood of off his lips, and savored her reaction with a hawk-like focus.

There was something new in his eyes, something that terrified her more than anything - he was looking at her with a kind of bestial _hunger_. What she had done had mixed his rage with a desire. Or maybe that was just the way the man worked. His fury fed lust.

No one had ever looked at her with such intense focus. Nausea crept over Hermione, as pinned under that gaze; an involuntary hot jolt shuddered through her abdomen.

And he _saw_ it.

He saw her reaction and he knew what had happened - how her body had betrayed her.

Suddenly she felt like a foolish child, in too far over her head. _What was she doing?_ She had let her anger get the best of her again. Gryffindor bravery and reckless emotion always led to risky decisions. She had wanted to disgust him, to _teach_ him something, as absolutely mad as that seemed now. To make him feel...what? Shame? Why had she even come out of the tent to engage with him at all?

She hated him for making her feel this. For seeing it. What she desired was Ron. Just Ron. She wanted him to be back here, to apologize, to take her in his arms, to finally kiss her; gently and with love.

How could her body instead now react to the gaze of such a twisted, vile man?

Hermione realized she was still holding her hand close to her chest. The charged silence hung between them. She took a few steps back towards the door, when she heard a 'pop'.

Harry had reappeared in the tent. _Oh thank Merlin._ _He made it._

"Hermione? Hermione!" The alarm in his voice was building with every second. He rushed out of the tent, and stopped when we saw her, momentarily relieved. But then he saw she was holding her bleeding hand, and looked to Malfoy behind her, still wearing her blood on his face.

Harry drew his wand immediately and pointed it directly at his chest.

"What happened? Did he hurt you?" she could hear the protective anger in his voice. " _If you hurt her I swear I -"_ Harry jabbed his wand into Malfoy's chest.

"No, Harry - he didn't hurt me. Come on, let's go back inside."

Harry and Malfoy held each other's eyes for a long moment before Harry finally stepped back.

"I don't think there's any reason for him to be able to talk, do you Hermione?" said Harry darkly.

"I would just hex you, Malfoy, but I think the muggle way of doing things might suit you better." And with that he conjured a gag that wrapped itself tight around Malfoy's mouth. It was clearly uncomfortable, and if the look in Lucius' eyes were any indicator, he would have snapped Harry's neck given the chance.

Harry placed a protective shield around the tree, and with one last look at Malfoy, turned and walked back into the tent. Hermione followed without looking back.

"Muffliato," Harry muttered as he walked over to the bunk beds and sat down, clearly exhausted.

"Did you get it?" Hermione asked, eagerly.

Harry slowly reached his hand down his collar and drew out the chain and locket.

"It was back by Dolohov. In the snow next to his body."

"Good." Hermione said quietly. She should feel relief. But she felt further from Harry than she had in all the time she'd known him. A long silence passed. She didn't know whether to move to sit next to him or not. She didn't know what to say. He wouldn't look her in the eye.

"What happened with him, Hermione?" He finally looked up at her. A shade of McGonagall was in his expression. Authority. Disappointment. He looked suddenly much older.

"I don't know. I just -" Her words were failing her. Nothing seemed like a good excuse. No excuse could explain her behavior.

"He called me mudblood," she said finally, weakly.

Harry looked away from her, sighing. "Look - I know you miss Ron. I know these past few months have been harder for you. Just -" he shook his head, "I don't know, Hermione. I don't know what to say. Let's just get some sleep. We'll figure out what to do in the morning."

"Ok."

Harry crawled up to the top bunk, kicking off his shoes over the side.

Hermione extinguished the lantern light and crawled in below. She lay there staring at the ceiling of the bed, silently healing her fingers with her wand. When she was done, she raised her hands before her and stared at them. They looked different.

 


	2. Turn Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Readers - thank you for your kind reviews of Chapter 1! I'm glad you enjoy him as much as I do. 
> 
> This story takes place in the middle of Deathly Hallows. As usual, I own nothing - all rights belong to the brilliant J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review.

**The Unforgivables** by Suliswrites

Chapter Two: Turn Me

***

Hermione didn't sleep a moment that night. She couldn't shake the awareness of him outside, and the tension that now hung between she and Harry.

It was hard enough losing Ron. She didn't want Harry to drift away too. He was always so close to being certain that only he could be the one to do this. She barely had him convinced to accept her help. Even past her personal need to keep their friendship, she knew he couldn’t accomplish this immense task without her help. _If they could accomplish it at all._

Just as the sun was rising, reflecting a cool, peach glow into the tent, she got out of bed and put herself to work. Work was always how she kept the things she didn't want to think about at bay.

She set about filling the water kettle but realized that putting it on meant going outside to start a fire. A quick glance told her Harry was still asleep in the top bunk. She hoped he wasn't having disturbing dreams again.

When she walked out she found him awake and staring at the door. Apparently he hadn’t slept a moment either. The ground had frosted over in the night, and his skin was even paler than usual. _If that were possible,_ she thought.

He was sitting up straight and proud, like the pine tree he leaned against were a throne, even gagged and bound. _What would it take to make Lucius Malfoy lose his grandeur,_ Hermione wondered.

She saw her dried blood staining his cheeks and the shame of last night’s recklessness flooded back into her chest. For a moment she wanted to avoid him at all costs, pretend he wasn’t there as she set about her work. But that was not within Hermione’s nature – she wouldn’t ‘hide’ from conflict. _I will not shy from his gaze._ She quickly set about gathering wood and lit the fire, placing the kettle on. 

She sat on the ground with her arms resting on her knees, watching the flames come to life. After a few minutes she chanced a glance in his direction and as expected he was staring at her, the gag still tight in his mouth. Half of her loved seeing him bound and uncomfortable – the other half though, had all the instincts she would with any human being. _He must be thirsty._

 _Well,_ she thought,  _there’s power in doing what I think is right, regardless of what he’d do if the tables were turned..._

Getting up calmly, Hermione poured a cup of the hot water and walked over to stand in front of him. He looked at the cup. _Does he expect me to burn him with it?_

She untied the gag from around his mouth and leaned down so her face was level with his, calling up every ounce of authority and confidence she had. 

“One minute without it. Drink.”

He watched her curiously she raised the cup to his lips and gently tipped it forward. He drank slowly and exhaled when he had finished.

“Poison?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“You’ll find out, won’t you?” And with that she tied the gag back tightly around his mouth. He let her, a faint shadow of amusement in his eyes.

 _Another thing Harry doesn’t know about,_ Hermione thought. _I don’t need him to approve every decision I make._

She felt strangely at ease with him in that simple interaction, as though they’d shared something intimate that made certain pretenses fall away. That ‘something’ had been _too_ intimate for her liking, she reminded herself. This new sense of understanding with him was not a comforting feeling.

Hermione poured out two more cups and walked back into the tent. Harry stirred in the top bunk hearing the canvas flap rustle.

“Tea.” Hermione set his cup on the picnic table across from the bed and took a seat. 

Harry nodded groggily and swung his legs over the edge, reaching for his glasses. His black hair stuck out in all directions.

As they did every morning, Harry reached down his collar and pulled the locket up and off over his neck, handing it down to her. She put it around hers and tucked it under her sweater. The heavy chill of the metal pressed into her breast. Every moment with it on was a conscious struggle against it. Already she felt more hopeless and panicked.

Harry took a seat across from her and gulped his tea. “Awake?” he asked, looking towards the door.

She nodded. “What do we intend to do with him, Harry? There are only so many options.”

“And what are they?” There was an edge in his voice. He had never been a morning person and was surely still holding some of the locket’s energy, but she felt like he was also frustrated with her.

“Well, it seems to me we either…attempt to interrogate him for information, or…”

Harry looked at her urging her to say it. “…Or _kill_ him, Hermione?”

She sighed in frustration, not wanting to think about that possibility yet. They weren’t there yet. 

“I’ve been trying to think what Lupin or Kingsley would do. But we’re on our own – we can’t risk attempting to contact them.” She paused, shaking her head. “It might come to that, I know, but we should exhaust every other course of action first.”

He leaned toward her across the table - “Believe me it’s not my favorite option either, but we clearly can’t just let him go. Even if we obliviate him, they could find a way to trace him back to us,” he said.

“We may have defended ourselves before, Harry, but we’ve never executed anyone.”

“I know, and I’m not saying that we should necessarily, but things are different now. We’re at war. What _should_ we do? Tell me.” 

“I don’t know, this is new to me - I’ve never kept a prisoner of war before.” she said, agitated.

Harry looked down silently at the cup in his hands for a long moment. “I had another dream,” he said.

This was exactly what she feared – _he has to find a way to keep him out_.

“Were you him again?” she asked.

He nodded. “I was standing over Malfoy - Draco.”

She knew what was coming.

“He was screaming, writhing in agony. His mum was on her knees pleading and – kissing my robes,” Harry swallowed. “And I - _he_ \- was laughing.”

Hermione reached across the table and put her hand gently on his arm. “Oh Harry.” He took another gulp of his tea and continued to look at the table.

“You have to keep trying. You have to close y -”

“ _My mind,_ I know! You don’t have to keep _telling_ me, Hermione, it doesn’t make it any easier to do!” he jerked his arm out of her hand.

“I’m just trying to help you.” she said quietly. _They couldn’t fall apart too. They were all each other had now._

Harry looked up at her and rubbed his hands over his eyes, exhaling. “I’m sorry.” He took her hand. “It takes a while for him to leave me.”

“I’ll wear it at night from now on. Maybe that’ll help.” Hermione said.  He nodded. “Thanks.”

She swallowed, “Well, clearly Draco is taking the punishment for his father’s failure. That may be all we have to bargain with.”

“It’ll get him talking at least.” Harry stood and went to put on his jacket.

He paused and turned to her, “I don’t know what he said or did to you outside the cemetery before I got there last night, but…you’re not yourself around him. I’ll ask the questions. I think you should give yourself some time before you engage him again.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped at the powerful sense-memory suddenly so strong on her fingers that the word ‘engage’ conjured for her. _Damn him._

“I’m sorry for leaving you with him last night,” Harry said.

Hermione shook her head, “You had to. It was my own fault for letting him get to me.” _For letting him make me feel that way._

Harry hesitated for a moment before asking, genuinely “Was that all he did? He called you a mudblood? That’s not the first time, Hermione.”

“He…” she tried to figure out how she could explain without details. “He took my power away from me, Harry. And I hated it. And wanted to do the same to him.”

He seemed to understand and accept that. Harry nodded and zipped up his coat. “Come on. No one’s going to tell us how to do this, we might as well jump in. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter – ‘interrogators.’ What strange lives we have, ‘Mione,” he smiled half-heartedly.

His use of her nickname made her feel that all was well with them again, that she wasn’t alone. She smiled back sadly, following him out the door.

*** 

Once Harry untied the gag from his mouth, he stood before Lucius in silence, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

 _Is this some kind of strategy or does he just not know where to begin…_ Hermione couldn’t help thinking. She stood a few feet behind Harry, watching, her arms crossed against her chest.

“There aren’t any of your pawns to play here, Malfoy. No ministry to hide behind. It’s just us. I expect when it comes down to it you’re just like your son – once you lose the protection of your half-witted thugs, you aren’t anything but a weak, arrogant prat.”

Lucius smiled slowly. “Do you think we’re playing a _game,_ boy?”

“I’ll ask the questions here,” Harry said a little too forcefully.

Hermione suppressed the wince she felt at Harry’s choice of words. _As usual_ _he’s so focused on being the hero that he forgets to cut to the bloody point._

“By all means, _oh_   _chosen one._ ” Lucius sneered, bowing his head in mock supplication.

 _He’s enjoying every minute of this…_ Hermione thought to herself, frustrated.

“Yeah that’s right, Malfoy. _I’m the one_ who’s going to bring your dark lord down. You must be pretty used to cowering like this before _him_. Comes easy to you does it?”

Lucius laughed under his breath, clearly amused. “Have you ever questioned a prisoner before, Potter? This is not how to begin. First _tell_ me what you wish to know, then show me what you’ll _do_ to me should I not give you the information you seek. _Understand?_ ”

“I’ll do whatever I like to you, Malfoy.” Harry stepped forward abruptly, pointing his wand at Lucius’ face.

Malfoy’s expression took on a dark, cutting shade of pity. “Would that your dear Godfather were here to see you now. A lost little boy in the woods, searching for breadcrumbs. Trying _ever_ so hard to be a man. How proud he would have been.”

Harry’s face turned red with fury.

“Your son, Malfoy. He’s wetting himself from the Cruciatus right about now. _Begging for it to stop._ Because  _Father_ didn’t do as he was asked. I don’t have to spell it out for you, the things he might do to him next - if your absence continues.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, suddenly burning with loathing. He hissed at Harry through gritted teeth _“You think I don’t know the cost of my own mistakes, boy?_ You have no power to change them. There is no forgiveness for my failure, no reprieve for my son, unless I deliver the Dark Lord something of _value_. Preferably your body, mangled and bound at his feet.”

Lucius looked past him at Hermione. “Though hers would do just as nicely…”

Harry punched him hard across the nose and it began to bleed. Lucius rolled his neck back and grinned, “ _Now_ you’re getting the hang of it. Again.”

Harry was raging, he did as he instructed, and struck once more even harder. _Harry, what point are you trying to make? You’re giving him exactly what he wants!_

Malfoy turned back and spit blood out onto the ground. “ _Again, boy.”_

Harry was raising his fist once more -

“What if we could guarantee Draco’s safety?” Hermione interjected.

Lucius’ eyes fell back to her and he let out a bark of a laugh.

“And your wife’s,” she added.

He examined her for a moment, amused.

“How very generous of you. Are you offering _me_ the same saintly clemency, Granger?”

“We would speak for you. Tell everyone how you helped us. They would lessen your sentence. You cannot want a life in Azkaban.” 

Lucius smiled. “You wish to _turn_ me? To have me do your bidding against the Dark Lord?”

Hermione drew herself up and steeled her expression. “You know our options, Malfoy. Either that, or we have no choice but to kill you. Then your family dies at his hand, knowing that you failed and abandoned them to their fate.”

“They may die regardless, girl.” He said darkly, his eyes dulling.

“They _may._ Are you determined to just wait and see, while doing _nothing_?”

Lucius considered her for a long moment, his eyes roaming her face, reading every tension. Harry was irrelevant now – the bargain seemed to lay solely between them.

Lucius was still as stone again, as he had been last night.

“Come here.” he said quietly. 

Harry looked back to Hermione, wordlessly telling her to stay put and stop talking. 

She felt demanded of by both of these men, both telling her what to do – assuming she would bend to their wills.

White-hot anger at her lack of control reared up in her chest once more. _I will not be ordered about by either of you._

Hermione swiftly extended her arm, fingers spread wide, and forced the burning energy out of her hand towards the tree. 

In seconds, the trunk of the tree shot up out from the ground with a great booming creak that shook the soil beneath them, raising Lucius to standing, all the way up to the point where his feet left the ground and only the toes of his boots touched the earth. New branches erupted from the bark and curled tighter across his chest, encasing him.

The binds held him tight to the tree, nearly suspended. Bright green shoots of newly born grass sprouted out of the hard, frosted winter earth, surrounding him. The only vibrant color within sight.

Hermione walked slowly forward till she stood directly before him, her wand pointed inches from his groin.

Lucius’s breaths were quick - it had clearly taken him by surprise, but on his face she saw a thrill and even a trace of wonder.

“Did you have something to say to me?” Hermione asked simply.

Harry stood back watching the exchange, speechless. He’d never seen Hermione perform such elemental magic before.

Lucius looked down at her wand’s position, and back to her. “Who taught you to perform wandless magic of this kind?” he asked breathlessly, eyes narrowing with the urge to understand what he was witnessing.

“No one. I taught _myself_. That’s what us mudbloods have to do, you know. No one _gives_ us our magic. We have to pull it out of ourselves from nothing, with our own sheer will.”

To tell the truth, Hermione was near shaking with wonder of her own at what she had just done. She had performed small acts of wandless magic before, certainly, but never at this level, never with so much surety and grounding. Adrenaline was soaring inside her.

 _Where did that come from?_ she thought. The answer was clear, she felt it winding up every nerve in her body:

_Anger. Anger provoked by him. And something else on the edge of it… an electric vitality that hummed through every inch of her._

Whatever his presence did to her, there was no denying that it awoke a kind of power she’d never known she had. And she already felt herself craving more.

 

 


	3. Taking Aim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers. I’m excited to share this chapter with you. It took its time coming into being – these two have so much to say to each other. Hope you enjoy. Please consider leaving a review – they are greatly appreciated and provide fuel for the fire. 
> 
> Chapter 4 is on its way. As always, thank you for reading. 
> 
> This story takes place in the middle of Deathly Hallows. I own nothing - all rights belong to the brilliant J.K. Rowling.
> 
> – Suliswrites

The Unforgivables by Suliswrites

Chapter Three: Taking Aim

. . .

 

Lucius took in the sight of her before him. Hermione was still glowing with the exhilaration of the magic – it radiated off of her.

He seemed to be taking a new measure of her – his expression an alarming mixture of rage, strategy, and awe.

“Domination looks good on you, Granger.” 

His gaze trailed down from her face to her neck, stopping at once at the chain that lay against her collarbone. The chain that Hermione now realized by his shifting expression, he had most certainly noted as being around _Harry’s_ neck the night before.

His eyes met hers. A smirk rose in the corner of his mouth.

However little he’d been able to gather in the past several hours, Hermione was certain: Lucius now knew that whatever lay at the end of that chain was of great importance.

Sparks shot impatiently from the tip of her wand. “What is your answer, Malfoy?”

He glanced down once more to where she held her aim. “First - would you kindly _lower_ your wand?”

Hermione reveled in the momentary control over something so very precious to him. She lowered it slowly.

“ _Thank you_.” He cocked his head to the side, challenging. “I came _very close_ to succeeding in my task last night. You can barely keep _yourselves_ alive and you expect me to believe you could make good on that offer? You talk of ‘guaranteeing’ his safety. Do you have _any idea_ what you're promising?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I mean what I say. We’ll do what’s necessary, if _you do_.”

He smiled to himself at her nerve, intrigued. “I’d appreciate some time to consider.”

“ _One night_ ,” she said firmly.

Lucius nodded in understanding, turning his head towards Harry who stood fixed to the spot, in shock at all that had transpired in the past few minutes. “You’re awfully quiet, Potter. The adults are talking, you may go back to your room.”

Hermione thought Harry might explode by the rage that overtook his face.

“That’s _enough_.” Harry said brutally. “STUPEFY!” His spell hit Lucius square in the chest across the short distance, rendering him instantly unconscious, still held in the binds of the tree.

Harry turned abruptly back to her. “ _What the bloody hell was that, Hermione_?”

“Negotiation.” she countered, defensively.

“I meant your – your – “ He couldn’t even find the words “– powers! Perfectly executed **_wandless_** elementals! But _yeah_ , that too - How could you make him an offer like that? You should have cleared it with _me first_!” he yelled, outraged.

“There’s not always time to ask your permission, Harry!”

Her reply didn’t register, he was still wrapping his head around all of it. “ _How did you do that?”_ He gaped at her, trying to understand.

“I don’t know – I just…felt it, and it happened.” She shook her head.

“It _‘just happened?’_ What is _going on_ with you? I can’t believe you, Hermione! What in Merlin’s beard were you _thinking_ doing that! Asking him to _join us_? His loyalty is to Voldemort! That’s not going to change!” 

“No, Harry - if I’ve measured him right, his loyalty is to _himself_. All we have to do is offer the more appealing option. The option where he and those he cares about stand to gain the most.”

“You really think he cares for Draco and his wife? Look at the position he’s put them in!”  

“Don’t do that. Don’t start believing that anyone who’s not on our side is without humanity.”

“How can you _say_ that, Hermione? The death eaters _are_. Think of what they’ve done! Think of Bellatrix!” His outrage was descending quickly into blinding anger – she wished Lucius hadn’t said those awful things about Sirius.

  
“I know all that Harry. But if we think that of them how are we any _different_? If we all just want to destroy each other how does this ever end?” she yelled. 

Her words landed, and a brief flicker of shame crossed his face.

 _That locket is doing more to us than we realize,_ Hermione thought.

Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to re-center and take it all in. 

Hermione took her chance - “He could help us with the horcruxes. And we _need_ help, Harry. He’s had years at Voldemort’s side to learn the information we need to do this. Think of the diary in 2nd year -”

“Yes, _think of it_ , Hermione. Are you forgetting what _he did_ to Ginny?”

Hermione sighed. _Anything about Ginny is an argument I can’t win right now._ “I haven’t forgotten Harry – and there’s no excuse for what he did. But you said yourself - Dumbledore told you that Malfoy didn’t know what it was he was giving her.”

“He still knew it would open the Chamber of Secrets! Which nearly _killed_ _you_ , by the way. And if Dumbledore said Malfoy didn’t know the diary was a horcrux, then what makes you think Voldemort has ever told him about any of them?”

He had a point there. But there was more to it than that. “He may never have. But how could Lucius be one of his highest-ranking followers for all of these years and not have gleaned _something_?”  

“I don’t trust him, Hermione. I never will. He would betray us the first chance he gets.”

“He might.”

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief at her logic. “Well!”

“Everyone is a threat of betrayal, Harry,” Hermione said desolately, “ _What else do you call what Ron did?”_

Harry froze, staring at her in silence. They’d never used that word for what happened before. Neither of them could stand to think about it for very long. Hermione forced herself to keep her expression unyielding, banishing the tears from her eyes before they could fall. Harry swallowed and shifted his gaze to the ground.

Hermione softly continued - “Look. I don’t trust him either Harry - but I don’t need to. We just have to be sure we have something that he desires. And we _do_ : a chance at survival. And if he gains that, eventually redemption. A chance of that for Draco - which honestly I’d wager he cares more about than the same for himself.”

Harry huffed in disbelief and turned from her, shaking his head, his rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“He may be a terrible father, but you saw that look in his eyes - he loves him.”

Harry turned back to her, urgently imploring, “So what if he does? _Hermione._ He believes that you and your kind should be - at best - in servitude to him, and at worst, _exterminated_. I know you love your lost causes but he’s not worth your pity.”

Hermione glared at him. _“Lost. Causes?”_

 **“** You know what I _mean_ , Hermione! You’re always trying to save people who don’t want to be. Kreacher was never going to be your friend, and Winkie liked her life just fine.”

Hermione straightened her back and crossed her arms. “I see. I’m still just some silly ‘know it all’ to you, after all these years?”

Harry rushed to her, “ _No,_ Hermione _._ No. Don’t ever think that,” he said gently. “I just think you…sometimes don’t see the full picture of someone because you want so very much to help. Lucius Malfoy is not a good person in a bad situation waiting for an out.”

Hermione sighed, letting her arms fall and dropping her defenses. “I have no illusions about what kind of man he is, Harry. But I think you underestimate my ability to read and to _handle_ him. This could be just what we need, and I haven’t led you astray before. Please take it seriously.”

Harry examined her soberly, the troubled worry that now always hung about him was even more acute. He looked back to Lucius, still unconscious within the tree. When his eyes returned to Hermione, he let out a deep exhale. “ _Alright_. If he agrees to it, we give him _one_ chance. But if anything, _anything,_ at all seems off – I won’t hesitate to kill him.”

“I know. Neither will I -”

A twig snapped in the distance. Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm – they both drew their wands.

The two of them stared out into the frosted trees, listening.

After a long moment, a nearly imperceivable tone echoed back to them out of the woods.

“Did you hear that too?” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered quickly. “We need to go. We’ve stayed here too long.”

Harry nodded. “Pack up the tent. I’ll cut him down.”

. . .

 

After Hermione had apparated them, they cast the protective wards and began to set up camp. The winter days were short, and they needed to take advantage of what light they had left. As Hermione began setting up the tent, she glanced back to see Harry dragging Lucius’ unconscious form towards another nearby tree.

“Harry – wait. We can do better than Incarcerous. Let me set up a warded boundary cage – It’s safer in the long run and might serve as a gesture of goodwill when he wakes up.”

Harry groaned. “I don’t want him to be any more comfortable than he already is.”

Hermione gave him a stern look. “Regardless – we should give him every incentive we can to agree.”

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped Lucius roughly to the ground. “ _Fine._ Trade.”

Hermione handed him the canvas and took out her wand. She held her hands before her, muttering the incantations, walking a wide box of about 20 feet in each direction around his body. Spell after spell drifted into the air and congealed, leaving a slightly iridescent wall that shot up into the sky on every side of him.

Harry was already inside. When she walked through, he was sitting at the picnic table, examining the snitch Dumbledore had given him.

“Done.” She said. Harry nodded without looking at her.

“I’m exhausted, Harry. I didn’t sleep. Will you take watch for a while?” she asked.

“Sure.” Harry pocketed the snitch “He better keep his mouth shut when he wakes up…” he said, grabbing his coat. He held out his hand to her. “My turn. You’ve had it all afternoon.”

Hermione pulled the chain out from underneath her sweater, lifting it over her head and handing it back to him.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

“Thanks.”

Hermione threw herself down on the lower bunk and rolled towards the wall, closing her eyes. Her last thoughts before drifting off were of the tree she’d enchanted, and the bright green sprigs of grass that came at her call.

. . .

_She was standing at the edge of a flowing river of black and blue. It dragged like molasses, hovering in time. Her bare feet sunk into the wet, muddy grass – only just visible beneath her in the night. She looked up. Across the river stood a black figure, cloaked in silhouette to the ground, haloed in starlight. She did not fear them._

_The figure stepped into the riverbed slowly towards her, wading up to its waist. A hand beckoned for her to follow. She stepped into the water, white dress billowing out around her legs._

_The figure’s hooded silhouette nodded and dipped a hand into the water. She mirrored the action._

_They lifted their hands back out of the liquid in unison. In the figure’s hand was a black arrow - tip glinting at her in the darkness. She looked down. In her hand was a writhing black snake. It coiled listlessly around her wrist, then sunk its fangs into the pad of her palm. She gasped._

_A deep garnet stream of blood drew out down her arm, dripping into the water. She looked back up to the figure. It was now holding a menacing silver bow. A hand rose to remove its hood._

_Lucius._

_Her stomach dropped. The water sped back up into a great rush around them. A mischievous smile played on his lips._

_Without breaking their eye contact, he calmly loaded his arrow, and took aim._

_“Hermione. Wake up.”_

Hermione leapt up out of her sleep, panting. Harry sat next to her on the bed, his hand on her arm. “Bad dream?”

She nodded, wiping her brow. “Yes,” she said, looking down and rubbing her palm.

“Sorry. You’ve been asleep for hours - it’s almost midnight. I can’t keep my eyes open - can we trade?”

She swung her legs slowly over the edge of the bed. “How has it been?”

Harry scowled. “He woke a few hours ago. Just been _glaring_ at me with that stupid look on his face. I wish you’d let me gag him like before, or at least a blindfold. _Arrogant prat…_ ”

Hermione resisted the sudden urge to smile for some reason. She stretched and took a seat at the picnic table, pulling The Tales of Beedle the Bard out of her bag. She hadn’t read through it in days. _Was there ever going to be anything different in its pages?_ Sometimes she began to wonder if any of them really knew Dumbledore at all.

Hermione held out her hand as Harry was about to climb up into the top bunk. “I’ll take it at night, remember?”

“Right.” Harry let out a grateful exhale as he handed it off to her. “Thanks, ‘Mione.” His head hit the pillow with a great thud, and he was asleep in seconds.

 _Better dreams, I hope_. She lowered the lantern light above them to a dim glow.

Hermione stared at the book in front of her. She tried opening to the first chapter to reread, but her mind wouldn’t focus.

 _I can’t just leave it to chance…_ she thought. _He’s intelligent enough to see reason. I’ve nothing to lose in trying to convince him._

Her mind flooded with the vivid image of the arrow aimed to fire. Blue and black and silver - caught in the water.

_Just do it._

She closed the book.

. . .

 

Hermione stepped out into the night, aiming her wand at the canvas door and muttering a hushed “Muffliato.”

He was pacing within the wards, calm but determined strides - his long black coat drifting out behind him. The only notice he gave to her arrival was a slight flexing of his hands. His face remained impassive as he reached each edge of the spell – a faint shimmering wall imprisoning him on all sides.

On anyone else it might have looked desperate or anxious. Lucius’s pacing resembled that of a Tiger – a violent, coiled energy eager to strike given the first chance.

Gathering her coat tight around her, she walked towards him. He spoke mid-stride, his back to her.

“A silencing charm… Now I truly can’t wait to hear what you have to say.”

“You’re enjoying your new cage, I see.”

He stopped abruptly, turning his head back over his shoulder to glare at her.

“Have you ever _been_ in a cage, Granger?“

Hermione remembered – _He was held in a cage all last year. An unimaginably horrible one, surrounded by Dementors._ Even said to her enemy, she regretted her words immediately.

“I thought not.” He turned away from her once more, walking towards a tree that stood within the wards. “It breeds a merciless ache for movement.” He leaned against the tree facing her, arms crossed. “Would you have preferred to leave me a Hamadryad for eternity?”

Hermione had to control the surprise that overtook her. “ _You_ of all wizards – familiar with muggle mythology?”

“Of course. Perhaps the one instance in all of muggle history that their fear led them to properly _revere_ rather than _persecute_ us. Glorious sacrifices to appease our wrath…” He leaned his head back leisurely against the bark. “We were _Gods_ once. To have been alive in those days…”

Hermione could just picture him grandly demanding village after village of offerings in ancient times.

 “ ‘ _Persecute._ ’ “ Hermione said. “You mean exactly what you’re doing now?”

“Eye for an eye, my dear.”

“I don’t dispute that muggles have committed and continue to commit horrific acts throughout history. But so have Wizards. You can’t reasonably judge the whole of them by the acts of a few." 

Lucius lowered his chin and looked up at her with remonstration. “If you were tied to a stake and burned alive for a witch, I’d wager you’d feel differently on that matter – reason be damned.” His eyes darkened – unbridled glimpses of hate finally showing. “It’s a wonder that a hoard so in fear of eternal hellfire chose that means of execution,” he sneered.

 _Eye for an Eye …_ Hermione thought back to all the times she’d felt the urge to inflict suffering on those that had hurt her. _Rita, Marietta, Umbridge, Ron – Lucius._

 _I think that way, too…_ Hermione let it sink in. _That instinct is so strong in us. Where does the cycle ever end?_

The thought brought back the exhaustion of the war, her dread that maybe it really was just an endless struggle. She spoke almost to herself, “I suppose some part of us all wish others to feel the pain we feel.” 

Lucius laughed under his breath. “My. A philosopher as well. Your surprises never cease, Ms. Granger.” He cocked his head to the side, examining her. “You must be dearly wanting for an intelligent conversation these long months, to come to your prisoner for it in the middle of the night.” He flashed her a devilish grin. “Is that the only reason you’re here? It’s far safer inside, you know.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Malfoy.”

“Funny – I’m growing to have an exquisite fear of you.” He said it sincerely, almost excitedly. The statement threw her.

 _Is he so invigorated by the thrill of peril?_ She crossed her arms. “You mean you fear my kind.”

“No Granger - you. It’s not often I’m surprised. I find I quite like the sensation. Particularly the anticipation - waiting to see what you’ll do next.” His eyebrows rose expectantly – waiting.

She wasn’t going to restrain herself. She had decided that before coming out to see him. She would say what she believed – the truth of the situation was harsh enough to make her argument for her. She took a deep breath.

“I’m here to discuss our offer.”

“ _Your_ offer. Potter seemed less than pleased with the idea.”

“Neither of us want to have to become murders.“

He scoffed. “How _noble_ of you, Mudblood. Just like your ancestors at the stake – clean conscience and dirty hands. If circumstances demand murder, _then murder_ \- but do not fool yourself into righteousness.”

She took a step closer to him impulsively, shaking her head. “ _I don’t understand you_.  _Take_ what I’m offering. You love Draco - I saw that in your eyes today. If you love anyone, how can you believe the things you believe? Lead your son down this path? How can you follow **_Him_**?”

Hermione saw his expression close off fiercely - still and impenetrable at the mention of Draco’s name. At her making her argument in the name of his fatherly love. She’d struck a nerve. There was clearly a very deep pit of anger there, though he had near complete control over the emotion.

It bristled sharply just under the surface, showing only in brief flashes in his eyes, the sudden tension of his jaw. For a moment she thought he might lunge towards her. When he finally spoke, it was slow and deliberate.

“My end game is _survival_ , girl.”

Hermione took a step closer, exasperated, looking him dead in the eyes. “ _So. Is. Mine_.”

Lucius seemed to finally gain a hold on and disappear the fury that threatened to break his control. His demeanor returned to cool and calculated curiosity.

“How do you envision my mutiny playing out, hmm? What makes you so certain that history will fall to Potter? If I _turn_ , and you _lose_ \- I face a far worse fate than any death you could give me.”

Hermione knew that was certain. She could only imagine what horrors Voldemort would inflict to make an example of that kind of treachery.

Hermione looked to the ground to steady herself before replying. Whatever words she spoke in this moment had the chance to change everything if she chose wisely. She brought her gaze back to him and said the only thing she could think of - what she sincerely felt - what she knew he could not deny.

“Someday - long after Voldemort’s victory - you would inevitably do something that angered or disappointed him. And all of this would start again. You will never be free of him if he wins. _Never._ Nor will your son after you. No matter how safely in power you feel.”

She moved to stand before the very edge of the wards that held him. “If _we_ win, if you’re with us - there _is_ an  _end_ to this.”

To her surprise, he didn’t counter immediately with a smug reply. He simply looked at her. In that moment he seemed just as exhausted by all of it as she was. He was _listening_.

Hermione decided to take a risk and let herself give voice to the other reason that was overflowing in her. 

“Besides,” she said. “How satisfying would it feel to rot him - from the inside out?”

He inhaled a deep breath - a slow grin rising in the corner of his mouth. “There. Once again.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Exactly what I least expected.” 

They eyed each other silently – the echoing sounds of the wood sweeping in around them. It felt almost… _even…_ between them as the words were spoken. Something had once again been stripped away, if only for a moment. He continued -

“I don’t understand you either, Granger. _However._ We need not understand each other to be of use to each other... Isn’t that precisely what you’re offering? You use me, I use you.“

 _Slytherin to the last,_ Hermione thought.

“That’s _one_ way to put it…Though I don’t like the sound of your interpretation. What exactly would you expect to use an ally for?”

“As you’ve said: Protection. Beyond that – pleasure.” He said it innocently enough, though Hermione knew what thoughts lay behind it.

She chose to ignore the insinuation. “It pleases you to harm me, does it?”

He shook his head slowly. “It pleases me to see you harm. Amongst other things.” His eyes tracked familiarly down the length of her. “Glimpses of your darkness.”

_That hunger again – all over him... Change the subject, Hermione._

“I’m not a dark witch.”

“ _Is that so?_ Your mastery of the Cruciatus would suggest otherwise. The look in your eyes last nigh-“

She cut him off sharply “- You don’t know me, Malfoy.”

Lucius inclined his head in conciliatory acknowledgment, enjoying the game. “Alright. Why don’t you _tell_ _me_ who you are?”

He pushed off from the tree, walking slowly towards her till he reached the very perimeter of the wards where she stood. Nothing but a paper-thin, faint shimmer of a barrier held between them. Hermione refused to let herself back up or show her fear.

He was standing mere inches from her, looking down into her face. He lifted a hand - his thumb tracing a faint, gleaming line across the wall of wards between them, directly over the opening of her lips, then spoke in a deep whisper.

“Tell me, _Hermione_ …How did it make you feel? Having your fingers in a Death Eater’s mouth?”

Her eyes snapped to his. She was not ready for it. His bluntness shook her grounding, shattered her defenses. His use of her _name_. He knew exactly how and when to plunge a knife in.

Lucius saw the cut was made - her muscles had tensed. His pleasure at her discomfort was palpable.

 _How could I have let him disarm me so quickly?_ No clever response came to her. She found that she wasn’t stepping back from him, though reason told her she should.

 _“Well?”_ he demanded.

Before Hermione could reply, a change overtook the air. The very night around them seemed to darken, as though the moon had been put out. The sounds of the forest muffled into nothing.

They froze, both turning slowly to look towards the wood. Hermione raised her wand.

Out of the ink-black night, a glow began flickering brightly through the trees. She held her breath. Lucius was as fixed on the light as she.

A million thoughts and fears raced through Hermione’s mind. The light was coursing smoothly round the distant branches towards them.

She strengthened her grip on her wand, ready to fight - when slowly… a pale, shining silver doe emerged from the trees.

 

. . . 

 

 


	4. Provocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers - I’d like to give huge thanks to Elle Morgan-Black, who very kindly and brilliantly acted as beta reader for this chapter. If you haven’t yet read her work you are in for a treat. If you have, then you already know how excited I was to have her guidance. 
> 
> TW: Assault, Sexual violence 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy. Please consider leaving a review - they are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing - all rights belong to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> \- suliswrites

. . . 

The image of light was completely silent, no sound came from the snow at its feet.

 _A patronus! Who could have found us?_ Hermione held her guard, wand raised, waiting. She glanced towards Lucius.

His mouth was parted slightly, the usual constant composure and control seemingly broken. “So it’s true...” he murmured, the look of surprise on his face shifting into a smirk.

At his words, the doe broke eye-contact with her and turned, walking back into the trees.

Hermione had no time to consider what he’d said – inexplicably, her intuition was screaming at her to follow. She took off after the doe into the shadows.

It’s cerulean glow guided her through the darkness, winding around the trees, ducking under branches. It continued deeper and deeper. Hermione was no longer sure just how far from camp she had wandered. She knew she should feel alarmed, consider the potential of a trap or being led to harm, but somehow she felt only calm trust for the creature.

_Who are you from? Who are you leading me to?_

The doe came to a halt and calmly looked back to her, making sure she had followed.

Hermione stopped. “Lumos.”

The tip of her wand illuminated the forest around her, and she found herself standing before a bleak, frozen lake. The doe drifted out over it like smoke, stopping in the center of the ice and vanishing into the air.

She turned, searching the trees, looking for any sign of someone. _Nothing._

 _A trap?_ The longer no one appeared the more trepidation sunk into her. She held her wand out over the lake where the patronus had vanished, the light ripping in a soft circle against the landscape.

But then – something seemed to glint at her from the water’s depths.

_What in the world..._

She took tentative steps out onto the ice - it held firm. Hermione bent down toward the shimmering and wiped the surface of the ice. There, down in the depths, lay the sword of Gryffindor.

Hermione couldn’t believe it. She immediately rose, again looking all around her. **_How?_**

There was still no sign of anyone. She turned back to the ice.

 _It can’t be this easy._ “Accio Sword!”

It did not move.

The memory came to her of Harry in their 2nd year. _Of course. Only a true Gryffindor…_

She was going to have to prove her bravery… _Oh for heaven’s sake._

The mere thought of going in that water sent a chill up her spine. She was seemingly alone and if anything went wrong attempting this there was very little she would be able to do about it.

_But what choice do I have? If I go back for Harry, it could be gone when we return. You have to do this._

“Diffindo!” The ice broke apart in a large oval and sunk into the darkness.

Hermione returned to the shore and began to strip off her clothing, throwing it in a pile and setting her wand on top. The freezing winter air alone was enough to start her shivering.

When she was down to her t-shirt, underwear and the locket, she steeled herself and walked back out onto the ice.

_No time to hesitate, Hermione._

She held her breath and dove below.

The biting water shocked her entire system and for a moment she thought her heart would stop. It was daggers into every pore of her skin - into her eyes.

Hermione had never been much of a swimmer but she forced herself down, taking great strokes deeper and deeper. Just as her fingers gripped the ruby encrusted hilt, something tore her violently backwards.

_The locket!_

The horcrux was jerking wildly against her neck, strangling her as it sped upward away from the sword. She was flailing, trying desperately to pull the chain back down with her freehand while struggling to maintain hold of the sword with the other.

The locket dragged her past the opening in the ice. She was trapped now. Pinned against the thick sheet. She slammed and kicked at it as hard as she could, trying to hit the sword against it. Her limbs were already weak and numb.

Only dull, faint thuds echoed back to her. It was hopeless, she had no momentum in the water – the ice was too thick.

 _No._ **_No_** _._

She felt her energy leaving her. She couldn’t fight anymore. Her movements began to slow. Hermione stared helplessly through the ice above her.

The blue blur of a shadow appeared overhead, then drifted away. Was her vision beginning to fail her? Were these the last images she would see?

Suddenly an arm hooked firmly about her waist and dragged her back. Hermione could barely move. She couldn’t feel her skin.

Then somehow she felt impossible firmness beneath her as she was dragged up onto the forest ground. Her hand released the sword and it fell to the dirt at her side with a dull thud.

_Harry?_

Coughing and gasping, she blinked open bleary eyes.  

Standing before her, soaking wet, was Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione’s heart froze – adrenaline immediately taking over. She scrambled back frantically on her elbows, turning to reach in desperation for her wand which lay feet away atop the pile of her clothing.  

_No - this can’t be happening. Not like this -_

He was too quick. He lunged for her, effortlessly seizing her delicate wrists and pinning them over her head. A single hand holding them firmly in place. Hermione jerked against his grip, kicking wildly. It was no use - her body was still shocked and paralyzed from the freezing water. In seconds his legs locked securely over hers, imprisoning her against the damp soil.

Hermione opened her mouth to scream for Harry but it was covered before she could complete the sound.

Lucius held her there firmly, his expression calm, his eyes fixed to hers.

Hermione’s breath came in great huffs, as she tried to slow her heart - the coil of panic within her surged against her bonds.

He took a deep breath to reign in his frustration, “ _Do not test me, girl_. I have no intention of letting Potter throw me back in your cage. Has it escaped your attention that I just **_saved_** _-_ ** _your_** _-_ ** _life_**?” he seethed. “Be grateful that against my _better judgement_ I spared you from your idiocy. _”_

Hermione’s eyes darted instinctively towards her wand which lay several feet to the side of them. The impulse half from desperate longing for her weapon, half in fear of him taking it up against her. Though given her prior experience of him, this was much, much worse...

Lucius followed her gaze. “Now, _Granger_. You know very well that I don’t need magic to hurt you. Can you not imagine the countless things I’m capable of doing to you _without a wand_?”

He paused, lowering his face closer to hers to whisper, “Yell for help _one_ more time and **_I’ll show you_** _.”_

Hermione froze. All her mind would scream was Fight. She tried to calm her thoughts.

 _How did he get free?_ _He didn’t escape. Hasn’t killed me. What does he_ ** _want?_**

Lucius studied her reaction silently, each change that came to her eyes, the shiver of dread that ricocheted through her.

He smiled to himself. “You lied. You _are_ afraid of me. Quite afraid…” His hand left her mouth and gripped her jaw firmly. “Every time you lie to me, _I gain power over you_. I’d have thought you’d learned that by now.”

He released the painful hold on her jaw and slowly brushed back a wet curl that clung to her forehead. His tenderness far more terrifying than his violence. He dropped his voice to a whisper “ _The more truth you keep within a lie, the less it can be used against you.”_

He tilted her chin back delicately with his index finger, and Hermione could only give in to the motion in her terror.

“You wear fear so _beautifully._ What a test you are of my self control. How tempted I am, to make you _beg_ me for mercy...”

Hermione snapped her head forward, meeting his eyes once more. He smiled, satisfied by the reaction.

She envisioned every kind of suffering that he could draw from her. By his expression, it seemed that once again Lucius knew the thoughts flooding her mind. _He_ ** _could_** _make me beg for it - I’ve no doubt._ Hermione _knew_ she should keep fighting, but somehow trapped under his cutting gaze she couldn’t seem to make herself move. 

She waited for him to finish, to reveal his decided sentence for her. “…Though, regrettably, I concede that would not be in the proper spirit of alliance.”

Hermione’s lips opened at the word – her heart’s thundering pulse calmed just a fraction.

_He’s truly considering the offer…_

He nodded slowly, silently confirming her understanding.

Lucius seemed genuinely amused in watching her panic still – but a shade of disappointment colored his eyes. He was reluctant to give up the delightful undefined terrors of her imagination, yet willing to let go just enough to secure her cooperation. “There now. Are you ready to behave yourself?”

‘ _Behave myself.’ Bastard…_ Hermione nodded reluctantly.

“Good girl. We’re going to continue our little conversation.”

Hermione anticipated release, but he continued to hold her firmly down against the dirt.

Whether she wanted it to or not, her expectation showed clearly in her expression. The sudden awareness of her state of undress would have brought a blush to her cheeks if she weren’t so bloody freezing.  

“Like _this?”_ she asked, alarmed _. “_ At least give me my clothes, Malfoy, _”_ she snapped, teeth beginning to chatter in the bitter, wet cold.

Lucius casually admired the single-handed grip he had on her wrists, eyes traveling down her form beneath him – soaking wet in nothing but her t-shirt and underwear. “I find the circumstances quite agreeable, actually.”

Even through her fear and the daggers of cold, Hermione felt her body wake to the singular charged energy that lay between two bodies pressed together so intimately. To her bare skin against the wet scrape of his clothing. The feeling of her legs pinned firmly and helplessly beneath his. He still held himself slightly above her, but the _slightest_ lean downward and…

The dangers of the position she found herself in were compounding and taking on greater horror every second.

_Damn this man to Hades. I wish I’d never touched him._

Hermione forced herself to try to banish her awareness of his body – to gather the shaking ball of her stomach into some kind of steady warmth that would allow her to get words out. _Just keep him talking…_

“You – you’re truly – considering it, then?” her voice shook, despite herself.

“You…”  Lucius trailed a finger slowly down her throat to the chain of the locket, “…and _this_ ,” He hooked his finger around the locket’s chain and pulled it taut against her neck, “intrigue me.”

Then he beheld what hung at the end of it: The locket of Salazar Slytherin. His eyes widened in amused disbelief, a soft laugh escaping him.

He looked back to Hermione, who despite her efforts was trembling, her chest heaving in great breaths against the cold.

Suddenly he jerked the chain towards him with a violent yank like a leash, his face still calm and intrigued. Hermione jumped in her skin, anticipating some coming violence. He held it tight against her neck.

The image of him training one of his prized mares fluttered into Hermione’s mind. He looked between the locket and the sword of Gryffindor which lay by the lake’s edge a few feet from them.

“Care to enlighten me?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

In contrast to his brutal actions his voice was controlled and polite - they might have been talking about the weather. It was part of what had always made Lucius one of the most frightening of the Death Eaters to Hermione. His devastating exterior lulled you with charm and perfect manners, but what lay beneath was a savage and unpredictable thing.

Hermione swallowed her fear, the sharp force of the chain digging into the back of her neck. Safety be damned, her stubborn Gryffindor nerve demanded she not go gently. “You know I won’t tell you a thing until you’ve forsaken **_Him_**.”

His eyes lit. The slightest tilt of his chin. “ _Won’t?”_ he asked, menacingly.

“You heard me the first time,” she dared.

Her brazen disobedience seemed to spur exhilaration in him, a kind of manic delight overtook his eyes. Hermione imagined it wasn’t too often someone said those words to Lucius Malfoy. _He truly loves a struggle, doesn’t he?_

He grinned, captivated, and leaned in conspiratorially, “But what a marvelous story it must be. I’m eager to hear it. Won’t you tell me?”  

Hermione stared back at him firmly, her expression impassive. Lucius inclined his head in acceptance of her terms.

In a flash the back of his hand came down sharply across her face, whipping her head violently to the side - a shocked cry leaving her.

“I can’t very well allow such insolence to go unpunished, now, can I? _You will answer me when I ask you a question._ Understood? _”_  

Hermione slowly eased her neck back to face him, the stinging buzz of the hit still in her cheek, her vision slightly swimming. It felt as though the crested silver ring he wore had cut her skin. _So violence_ **_is_ ** _at play…_

She dare not scream or try to yell for Harry again after the threats he’d made - she knew he was hungrily waiting for an excuse to make good on them. Still, in her pride she refused to answer him.

The second hit was twice as strong. She hid the sound of her pain as much as she could, hating the satisfaction she knew it must bring him. This time his hand tenderly tilted her jaw back to face him, a finger gently stroking her throbbing cheek. When he spoke it was almost in the warm, intimate tone of a lover. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. _Do you understand, Hermione?”_

_How far is he going to take this… I don’t want to find out._

“Y-yes. I understand you – _Malfoy.”_ In her growing rage she couldn’t help but add an edge of contempt to the last word.  

He raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Careful, girl...’

Despite the wordless warning, there was amusement in his eyes. “If you intend to continue in this manner, perhaps we should work to solidify our agreement.”  

Her teeth were chattering as she tried to maintain any semblance of strength. “How? What else do you want me to say?”

“Oh you’ve already made your argument, Granger. But a bargain of this sort begs more than _words_. If I’m to take this risk, I require confidence in the power of my new leader.”

“You’ve seen what Harry can do, he’s the only one who has ever survived the dark lord.”

Lucius almost growled in frustration at her blindness. “Not him, you fool. Potter is a recklessly impulsive _boy_ caught up in the martyrdom of his own quixotic crusade. No, my dear - I mean **_you._ ** I do not _submit myself_ to anyone lightly." He lowered his voice to a whisper once more. “ _Convince me.”_

Hermione’s mind reeled at his statement and the implications of his demand. “What do you mean?”

“Show me you’re worth following. I want a demonstration - of your _gifts_.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you mad? If you want some kind of - _talent show_ \- then let me loose, Malfoy - I’m freezing!”  

“Then you’d best convince me _quickly_.”

She couldn’t control the outrage in her voice. “How do expect me to do that?”

Lucius took in the view of her body beneath him once more, smiling at the idea that came to him. “Make me release you.”

_Drowning against the ice felt safer than this._

She couldn’t believe it – _This is what he’s demanding? Some primal demonstration of skill?_ _He could have escaped - he could have let me die -_ _and instead he wants show and tell?_

“Let me at my wand and I’ll do more than bind you to a bleeding tree, Malfoy,” Hermione growled. She jerked against his grip again, furious.

He laughed. “I would expect no less. You misunderstand - no wand, Granger. None of your book-learned spells.” He leaned down towards her once more. “ _Make me_. Do what you did today. Use your magic. I want to feel it stream out of you…” Something in his eyes flashed again. It almost felt as though some part of him was on the edge of losing his self control. He spoke fervently, with all the longing and reverence of someone in prayer.

“I want to see _her_ again. The witch whose cruciatus brought me to my knees – who made a dead tree spring to life in service of her will. **_Her_** **,** I could make a deal with.”

Even through the chaos, that word cut through – _Witch. Lucius Malfoy just called me a witch. You bigoted, egotistical arse  - you really do think of me as a true witch._

Hermione stopped struggling.

Lucius nodded in recognition. “ _Now.”_

The weight of it hit all at once - just how real this bargain was. How legitimately he was considering it. How very much hung on her ability to pass this test he was demanding of her. _If I can do it again, he may truly turn._ Panic sunk into her gut. 

“…I don’t have control of it,” she mumbled.

“You made that spell look as innate as breathing. Don’t try to tell me it was an accident.”

He waited. Hermione was at a loss for words – she didn’t know how to make it happen again, she couldn’t find that elemental thread within in her, even when she so desperately needed it to show itself.

She tried calling for it, but nothing changed. It was like a wild beast she’d tried to turn into a pet that refused to come. _My wand – I need my wand._

Lucius’ eyes narrowed in understanding. He seemed to be speaking to himself - “You truly don’t, do you? You haven’t yet learned how to wield it…”

The desperation was plain on Hermione’s face. No matter how hard she tried to imagine forcing the power out of her, nothing was happening. She was failing the test.

An idea struck him. “Does it require provocation?” he grinned.

Hermione swallowed. “Provocation?”

Slowly he lowered himself further down till he was flush against her, his face just inches from hers. She froze at the feeling of him – his body now touching hers in the most intimate of places. She’d never been this close to anyone before, let alone a _man_ , let alone a _Death Eater_.

 _A Death Eater who made my insides turn to jelly with just a taste of carnal touch – at the mere suggestion. Two seconds of his infernal mouth… And he knows it. What is_ **_wrong_ ** _with me?_

Lucius took firm hold of her jaw with his free hand. Grey eyes gleaming with mischief into hers, then looking to her lips.

_He’s not… He wouldn’t…_

The satisfaction in his eyes told her that’s exactly what he wanted her to wonder.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked quickly, unnerved.

“An experiment,” his eyes beamed. “Let’s test my hypothesis, shall we…”

His gaze roamed her face, taking in her reaction at his increased proximity. He was reveling in it.

“Rage…” he mused, inhaling her scent, “or desire? Or perhaps - the connection between the two...” His thumb traced across her bottom lip. “Which shall I test first?”

“Stop it,” Hermione demanded, panicked. “I’m not a lab rat to be experimented on. You can’t _make_ me _feel._ “

Lucius languidly bent his head to her ear, whispering harshly, “ _We both know I already have_.”

The truth of his words sunk a vicious pit into her chest. It was so much weight to hear it spoken, she felt herself momentarily stop breathing.

Without thinking, she heard herself stammer it, “Please, Lucius. Don’t.”

She could feel him smiling against her ear. “Mmm. I quite like the sound of my name on your lips.”

He tightened his grip on her wrists and nipped a bite at her ear lobe. Hermione felt the clear change of him harden against her – the urgent, new sensation pressing between her legs.

_Holy Goddess! This can’t be happening._

“Am I such a monster,” she felt his hand leave her jaw and suddenly make new contact at the crook of her knee, “That even _pleasure_ at my hands offends you?” His fingers began trailing an achingly slow line up the inside of her naked thigh.

“- Yes.” she gasped.

“It _offends_ you?…” The soft touch of his fingers was replaced by a keen scrape as he dug his nails into her delicate skin. “…or I’m a monster?”

Hermione squirmed against him. _“_ ** _Damn you_** _,”_ she seethed.

 _“_ You haven’t answered me. Do you remember what happens when you don’t answer my questions?”

“ _Both,_ ” she blurt out, quickly, bracing herself for another hit - but none came.

Instead she felt him grind aggressively forward into contact with her. The friction of his erection against her core sending another traitor pulse of desire into her gut.

“And _yet_ …” His touch left her leg just before reaching the crux of her, instead snaking its way up her waist, “at the hands of a _monster,”_ his thumb mercilessly pressing over her nipple as it passed, “despite yourself, you are ravenous for _more_.”

His hand came to wrap around her delicate throat. “ _Tell me I’m wrong._ ”  

Hermione looked him in the eyes, trying to say the words. But his earlier comment haunted her. The lie would be useless, as it held not a single thread of truth. Any attempt to deny it further would only lessen her power.

 **_Devil._ ** She _knew_ the agonizing truth. Yes. Nothing had ever felt like this. She’d never felt so much physical want. But still inside she railed against it.

 _He’s wrong. I’m not. I can’t be feeling this. He can’t be what makes me feel this._ _How dare he make me want something so_ **_vile_ ** _so_ **_badly_** _._

A rush of shame and fury at him and her feelings erupted inside of her. She felt energy surging in her chest, lapping out across her limbs almost like flames. The torrent of her anger prickled like electric waves across her skin. A groan of fury - of _need_ \- escaped her lips.

He nodded encouragingly, his tongue coming to touch the edge of his teeth. “That anger you’re feeling now? That raging urge to _harm me_? To **_have_** **_me_** _\- right here on the forest floor?_ You feel it pooling in the very core of you...the searing sharpness of it? **_Lean towards it_** _.”_

The scent of him was all around her. Lucius began to trail fevered kisses - bites - slowly from the crook of her ear down her neck. He thrust himself against her once more.

She gasped – another flash of pleasure quaked through her abdomen, and she felt her hips instinctively arch up into him to meet it. He let out a feral growl of desire in response.

A powerful sensation of unnatural heat within frightened her and she momentarily pulled back from the energy. But a sudden, fierce conviction - an acute hunger for the same power she’d felt when commanding the tree - made her follow his instruction. Hermione leaned aggressively _towards it_ with her mind and spirit.  

All at once, the hum inside grew into a roar and suddenly she was surrounded by a scorching heat. The lake’s freezing water in her clothing began to steam. Her skin blazed – it glowed, scalding hot.

Then she felt flames seep up through her palms into corporal being.

Fire - _born from her hands_ – thundering out like a churning tempest, licking its way down her arms.

Lucius let go at once, jerking back with a hiss as though burnt - clutching the hand that had moments ago been tight around her wrists

That was all she needed – the moment he released her Hermione flung herself over towards the water’s edge. In one swift motion she took hold of the hilt of the sword and pushed herself back towards him, knocking him back and pinning him hard to the ground beneath her – the sharp blade of the sword of Gryffindor pressed tight against his throat.

Wisps of flame still danced at the tips of her fingers like candlelight, and the metal of the sword began to glow faintly in her blistering grip, the rubies shining.

 _Bloody hell._ Hermione could barely comprehend what was happening.

They stared at each other, huffing breaths.

“ _That_ –" he breathed “was _magnificent.”_ His face was flush with desire and exhilaration.

Hermione pushed the blade harder against his throat to silence him, a small bead of bright blood rising to the surface.

“ _Your answer, Malfoy. You choose_ **_now_** _._ ” She demanded fiercely through gritted teeth.

A mischievous smile turned at the corner of his lips, shards of her flame light dancing in his eyes.

“I accept.”

. . .

 


	5. Pulling the Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers: I am a slow writer and life certainly has a way of curving the path. This story lives, (rather distractingly,) in my head every day. But for whatever reason, getting it onto the page in the form I like takes me a good long while chapter to chapter. 
> 
> Having you read and resonate with it is such a joy. For those of you who are sticking with it despite the waits – my sincere thanks! Your reviews give me much needed fuel. Please know that for all the time in between chapters, I am not abandoning this story. 
> 
> With this next installment - a longer one for you today - you may have noticed that our rating has jumped to Explicit. Please proceed accordingly. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing - all rights belong to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> Many thanks,  
> \- suliswrites

**The Unforgivables** by suliswrites

 

**Chapter 5: Pulling the Thread**

 

**. . . .**

“And high above, depicted in a tower,

Sat Conquest, robed in majesty and power,

Under a sword that swung above his head,

Sharp-edged and hanging by a subtle thread.”

\-      Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

. . . .

Earlier that night

. . . .

The image of light was completely silent, no sound came from the snow at its feet.

Hermione held her guard, wand raised, waiting. She glanced towards Lucius.

His mouth was parted slightly, the usual constant composure and control seemingly broken. “So it’s true...” he murmured, the look of surprise on his face shifting into a smirk.

At his words, the doe broke eye-contact with her and turned, walking back into the trees.

Hermione had no time to consider what he’d said – inexplicably, her intuition was screaming at her to follow. She took off after the doe into the shadows.

Lucius stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed to the tunnel darkness that the doe and the girl had disappeared into. This was a meeting well worth patience.

After a few moments, the shadows tightened into sloping waves of black fabric. Robes drifted silently out into the moonlight, till the figure’s pale profile lit an edge against the branches.

“So, this is what’s become of you,” the deep voice observed, distastefully.

Lucius bowed his head in greeting. “ _Severus.”_

“Caught playing with your quarry again, Lucius? Even in school you enjoyed control too much to have the clarity of mind to use it _efficiently_.”

“I see certain weaknesses from your school days have persisted as well.”

A heavy silence hung between them as the two men regarded each other.

Despite the distance and deception the years had brought, they knew each other too well to be anything other than completely direct with one another. In truth, Severus was perhaps the closest thing to a friend that Lucius had ever had.

The cards were shown. There was no need to confirm it now, he had suspected for some time. Lucius remembered the Evans mudblood and her vibrant hold clearly. There were no unconcealed shadows of anguish left in her wake, but Lucius had perceived a kind of change in Severus nonetheless.

He had let it lie. After all, the Dark Lord was gone. Best to let all the old ghosts rest and focus on rebuilding.

There were now more pressing questions at hand.

“Draco?” Lucius held his breath.

“Alive,” Severus answered calmly. He took a few steps closer, continuing “I cannot spare him the punishment, but I will not let the worst come to pass. Narcissa has done all she can.”

Lucius fixed his gaze to the ground for a moment. “I know she has.” He returned a steadied look back up to him. “What do they think has become of me?”

“Draco thinks you’re dead. Narcissa thinks you’ve run.”

The muscles in Lucius’ jaw tensed; his eyes narrowed slightly in restraint.

After a moment he spoke again. “The girl has offered me a deal. To turn.”

Severus drew a long inhale with the faintest rolling of his eyes. “Of course she has. In return for what?”

“Protection for Draco. For us, if the war is won.”

“Ms. Granger has always been rather ambitious for her house.”  

“She’s…” he chose his words carefully, “not at all what I expected.”

Severus gave him a knowing look of reproach, then turned inward thinking to himself for a moment before speaking.

“If you wish to go on living, I advise you to _take_ the offer. You will come to find aiding them in their task near impossible,” he looked him over in appraisal. “Though I believe even _you_ will be compelled to try once you learn the worst. If nothing else: attempt to keep them from getting themselves killed.”

Lucius let out a faint sardonic laugh, “ _Wonderful.”_

He examined the man before him curiously, new information flooding in with implications. “Tell me, do they know of your _history_?”

“No. **And it will remain that way.** Your silence - Draco’s protection,” Severus affirmed, arching his brow.

As if suddenly bored, he began to turn away. “I have left something for them. Make sure she finds it.” With that he raised his wand and dissolved the wards of Lucius’s cage in a swift cut of the air, the glimmering wall sifting to the ground like iridescent dust.

Heading toward the dark, Severus stopped and turned back slowly to face Malfoy once more. “And Lucius: I will not allow your hedonistic perversions to jeopardize my work. If you _insist_ on having her, **_do not destroy her in the process._ ** It is a loss this war cannot afford. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucius smiled. “Yes - _Headmaster_.”

Severus scowled. “Go. Now.”

He disappeared in a swirling pop back into the shadow.

. . . .

The disturbing coiling sensation in Hermione’s gut had not left her even with the regaining of control. On the contrary, the fact that she found herself now straddling him to hold the sword in position was not helping.

Even with his throat straining against the edge of her blade, he looked positively triumphant. She could still feel his arousal against her leg.

Hermione forced herself to stand as quickly as she could on trembling legs, extending the sword before her to keep the tip of it aimed at his throat. He stayed down, raising himself up casually on his elbows, watching her.

She felt the dull brush of a bruise forming at her throat where he’d kissed her and looked to his mouth.

_In that moment I felt myself give in… I pushed myself against him. What have I done?_

Taking a few disoriented steps back, Hermione motioned her chin upward in a quick command.

They were both still buzzing, every movement languid and weighted with their ragged breaths. He regarded her coolly and stood slowly, maintaining their eye contact.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

A faint gleam shifted in his eyes. He shook his head almost imperceivably in wry disbelief. “I’ve _more_ than seen you.”

“ **Now.”**

He smiled, turning slowly on his heel and pivoting to face his back to her.

_Disturbingly compliant all of a sudden. I’m not sure I like this version of him more. It’s unsettling..._

Hermione waited for a moment, still holding the sword fiercely before her. After a few seconds she walked backward to the pile of her clothing and laid down the sword, taking up her wand. Her eyes were focused on him the entire time as she put on her jeans, shoes and coat.

She went to cast a warming charm but found that she no longer needed it. The heat of her magic still swirled throughout her body, lapping up and down her limbs like a tide.

His jaw angled slightly back towards her over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

Hermione ignored his question. She decided to keep the sword trained on him. She didn’t like the idea of releasing it now that it was in her hand - and somehow after what she had just done, Hermione felt less in need of her wand than before.

She pushed her wand up her sleeve into its usual position and stepped back to him, holding the sword out before her until the point of the blade rested against his back.

“Weapons still?” He tutted in disapproval and turned slowly to face her, distancing himself gracefully from the blade.

“You just had me pinned to the fucking ground.” Hermione thundered at him.

“Was it the ground you object to?” he asked.

“The _beating_ ** _,_** to begin with.” She took a step back into him, so the blade held about a foot from his ribs. “ _Don’t -_ ** _ever_** _-_ _strike me again.”_

His gaze dropped to the sword between them then back to her. “Any other requests?”  

 _“_ Does your wife know you feel up witches half your age?”

His eyebrow rose. “Are you concerned for my marriage, Hermione?”

_Stop saying my name. It sounds so wrong in your mouth._

Hermione looked him up and down, disgusted by him, by herself for how his hands, his mouth, had made her feel.

_I want to hurt you. I want your weakness._

The words flew out of her before she could think - 

“She could care less, couldn’t she? After everything you’ve done in your insufferable selfishness to put her and Draco in danger – she must be _relieved_ you’re finally gone. Why would she ever share her _bed_ with **_you_**?”

In a flash Lucius knocked the blade to the side, grabbing hold of the hilt tight over her own hand. He pulled her forcefully into him, bringing the blade to her throat as he captured her other wrist and held it tight behind her back. They were inches apart once again.

Hermione could barely register what had happened. She had clearly found his wound. Unlike every previous show of finely perfected self-control, his expression was now one of unbridled fury.

His lip curled and he bared his teeth to her, snarling in a low whisper “If you’re _determined_ to know, Granger: Narcissa and I stopped sharing a bed long before my - ‘insufferable selfishness’ _-_ as you put it, ruined our _miserable lives_.”

Incomprehensibly, Hermione’s first thoughts were not of danger, but rather shock at how he had just spoken of himself.

His abrupt turn into this display of savage _self-loathing_ was the last thing she expected. It was too raw, too bare – not Lucius Malfoy.

The outburst and the pain in his voice felt real, but she knew like anything else from him it was finely calculated to have an effect on her, whether it was rooted in truth or not. Even his supposed weaknesses were subject to careful questioning in her mind.

_Regardless of whether your pain is real or not - I have no pity for you, you bastard._

Lucius’ furious grip on her wrist was excruciating. He glared at her, forcing in a deep breath as he regained his composure and control. His expression shifted. The anger remained but was once again caged behind a cold sneer.  

“Remember, Granger: I could have left you to drown. Taken the boy as my prize – returned the conquering hero. _I stayed,_ because you showed me that even _that_ ultimate victory would be hollow if I was still owned by Him.”

He drew the blade feather light up her throat to rest under her chin. Hermione held her breath. “But make no mistake: I do not intend to be owned by **_anyone_** _._ If we’re to remain allies, I suggest you cease _deliberately_ inciting my temper. Lest my newfound noble intentions waver.”

Then he released her, taking a step back, wrenching the sword from her grip and throwing it pointedly to the ground.

Hermione’s hand rose to her throat – head spinning trying to keep up with his dizzying dichotomy of aggression and cooperation.

“Then tell me how you escaped. I don’t make mistakes with my wards,” she said.

Lucius looked at her with patient satisfaction. He seemed both appreciative of her frank confidence and in no hurry to answer to it. A smile returned to his eyes as he considered her.

Finally, he offered “The same way the sword of Gryffindor appears to have come to you.”

“The doe? You recognized it. Who does it belong to?”

At this Lucius gave into a Cheshire grin. “Whomever it is clearly means _neither_ of us harm. Think how very few individuals can claim that.”  

“That’s not an answer to my question. And for you there will be _also_ consequences, Malfoy.”

His smile widened. “And what might those be, Hermione? Are you going to strike _me_?”

“I don’t stoop to brutish physical violence like you.”

“I seem to remember you gave my son _quite_ a showing of it. But evidently, your tastes have changed.”

“Merlin help me, I will hex that smug look off your face, Malfoy,” Hermione said, ready to draw her wand at any moment.

“Feel the need to reassert yourself? I’ve had my fun, why don’t you have yours?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“This _is_ the subject. I don’t think all of our business is quite finished, is it? And here I’d heard you were so thorough. Yet you willfully _refuse_ to acknowledge what’s just happened.”

He moved slowly towards her. “Do you realize the _wonder_ of what you are?”

He’d changed the game once again – she struggled to keep up with the twists and turns.

“You say that to someone you call ‘mudblood?’ I know my worth very clearly, Malfoy. Forgive me if I’m less than willing to believe you suddenly perceive an _inkling_ of it.”

Lucius took an urgent step forward, regarding her gravely. “I will not say this again, so enjoy it: You have displayed a more **_primal_ ** magic in the past 48 hours, than I have witnessed in all my days. Including that of the Dark Lord himself.” He was almost breathless with exhilaration. “Do you have – _any_ – idea, what you’re capable of?”

Hermione felt stunned. The way he was looking at her. The way he was speaking of her. How could this be the same person who cornered her in the cemetery wood only one night ago?

“ _Are you hearing yourself?_ I am filth to you. How can those two beliefs possibly coexist in your head?”

“Survival is a murky thing, Granger. There is a reason my family has endured and thrived through every generation in recorded wizarding history. We embrace that which would lift us higher. Even if it means aligning ourselves with the very thing we have previously sworn to hate. “

Hermione huffed in disgust. “Then your word means nothing. You swear oaths as a beast gives affection - for sustenance and safety alone.”

Lucius let out a sincere laugh; a disconcerting sound Hermione never imagined could come from his mouth. “Oh, for _far more_ than that, my dear,” he grinned, watching her.  

He seemed to be admiring the novelty of her innocence.“The truth is this: you are something wondrous, witch. Something of _power_. And I worship at the altar of power. I am a devoted disciple.”

“Well I am **_not_**. Power is the last thing I pray to.”

“Come now…” he admonished. “Is it not the only thing that’s made your pain slightly more bearable? Have you not trembled in reverence of that alone?”

Hermione swallowed against the uneasiness settling in her body.

_It felt so good. The hopelessness all drifted away_ **_. I did that_ ** _. I am more powerful than he is._

“You want to know just as badly as I do: _can you replicate what you just conjured?”_ Lucius said, taking another step towards her.

Then he held his palm open to her facing up, waiting for her to place hers in his. “Your hand?”

A sharp memory echoed in Hermione’s vision, as if a new lens had dropped over the same image: Lucius Malfoy standing before them in the violet shadows of the Department of Mysteries, putting forth his hand in request precisely the same way, his voice disturbingly pacifying and inviting within the confines of a clear demand.

They looked at one another simply. He was waiting – an openness in his expression she’d never seen before. He had given her the control by making a request that she could refuse. It almost felt as if he consciously wanted to give it over to her.

Hermione took in his open hand before her, the hand that had struck her, had touched her flesh intimately.

Her eyes met his once more; his expression had not altered. _Patience, of all things,_ Hermione noted.

His gesture of such poised, offered connection was alarmingly alluring. She felt compelled to test the boundary, to gain whatever mastery she could of this new magic.  

For some inconceivable reason, Hermione found herself stepping forward. She watched, almost outside of her own body, as she extended her arm and laid her palm gently face up in his.

Lucius released an exhale as his hand slid softly forward to below her wrist, fingers curling in a light clasp around it.

“Still warm,” he murmured, beginning to rub his thumb back and forth against the inside of her wrist. The quiet caress was intoxicating.

Hermione’s exhales were becoming audibly shakier than she cared to have him notice.  

After a moment, Lucius slipped his other hand beneath her sleeve and withdrew her hidden wand, holding it between them in exhibition.

“Let’s remove your crutch, shall we?” He pulled her gently in towards him by the wrist keeping their eye-contact, then curved his arm around her to tuck the wand into the back pocket of her jeans.

Having one’s wand handled by anyone other than oneself was a shockingly intimate act. Hermione could barely process the fact that he had the opportunity to take it from her but chose instead to return it.

Lucius brushed the tips of his fingers across her palm. “Do you feel it still?”  

_In every nerve. I’m still humming with it; a whole symphony fading out from that riotous crescendo beneath my skin._

Hermione nodded, noting the subtle shift in his expression, the boy-like wonder peering out through his cold eyes, so strange playing out across his patrician features.

“Call it back into you,” he urged in a whisper, watching her raptly. “Fire _. Venerate_ the element with your magic.”

For a moment who he was seemed to float away. Hermione felt nothing but the familiar blissful urge to explore and learn, to discover herself. He was to her only witness, believer and teacher.

She focused all her energy on the center of her palm. The strokes of his thumb against her delicate wrist were churning it all up again. She felt the bright magic swelling within her as she gave into the sensation, opened herself to it.

A faint glow returned, swirling lazily, but nothing more. Hermione bit her lip in impatient concentration.

She tried to block everything out except the warmth, tried to center her entire being into the palm of her hand. No change came.

Her frustration built quickly; the bizarre intimacy they were sharing snapped back to her consciousness.

She was, of all things, embarrassed to not be mastering it faster. And what was he doing touching her? Attempting to share in this experience with her?

Hermione huffed in aggravation, starting to pull her hand back.

Lucius tightened his grip and held her firm to where she was.

“ _Patience._ Surely you of all people know practice makes perfect,” he chided.

Hermione fumed at his tone of voice. She hated being reprimanded for anything, let alone a deficiency in her way of learning. She glowered at her palm.

“Think of something that enrages you,” he instructed.

She flashed a pointed glare back up to him, jaw clenched.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, a wry sneer at his lips. “Something not _currently_ present.”

Indulging in a slow, grounding exhale, Hermione directed her mind to her hurt - her rage. It was a chaotic and tangled spiral of thoughts that answered. Feelings, visions, sounds.

 _The aching throb of her hexed, enlarged teeth in 4_ _th_ _year._

_The sight of Harry sobbing wildly, draped across Cedric’s lifeless, muddy body._

_Her parents’ vacant, spell-logged stare as she walked out the door of her childhood home for the last time._

_Ron, almost drunk in his resentment and insecurity, throwing down the locket in a fit and storming off into the dark wood - followed by that hollow, final pop of apparation._

Suddenly the glow burst into a sprout of angry flames within her palm. They both jumped back an inch in reaction. Lucius adjusted the hold on her wrist further from the heat of the fire.

He was looking at her as though she were a very dangerous, wild animal he was attempting to train. Hermione liked it. This new caution from him satisfied her ego in the most pleasant way.

Lucius watched the flames as they spiked out in a disordered mess of directions. “Now focus it. Narrow the channel. Constrict your will around it.”

Hermione had no impulse to fight his instructions. They felt correct, and she was craving the knowledge as it was unfolding.

She imagined containment – tried to force it into the shape she desired. But she felt a resistance, something pushing back at her in defiance. The flames wobbled slightly but refused to bend to her will. Hermione was straining, pushing harder and harder, brow furrowing in concentration.

Lucius’s voice broke through. “You are imposing yourself.”

Hermione looked up at him. He stroked her wrist with his thumb encouragingly. “It must be _flattered_ into submission.”

Hermione pushed aside the feelings bubbling at his proximity – the way his lowered voice made her shiver. She returned her focus to the flames dancing chaotically within her palm.

Following his suggestion, she mentally approached the power from a place of reverence.

_Worship – venerate, he said…_

Hermione reassured the fire that it was safe within her control - that she was going to give its glory _purpose._

The flames instantly rounded then rose - breathtakingly suspended a few centimeters above her hand in a half orb, no longer connected to her skin.

“Very good,” Lucius breathed, delight smiling in his eyes. Hermione found that she was smiling herself.

“Now…” he pulled her carefully into him and turned her around, so she faced the lake, her back against him. Hermione was so enamored by the flames that no fear came to her – she let him guide her movement, let him pull her back into his chest.

He leaned down to her ear, whispering, “Pull the thread from _here,”_ placing his flattened palm in caress directly over her womb.

The heat and scent of him were all around her; the weight of his hand steady against her abdomen. Hermione felt the truth of it – that _was_ where this elemental miracle came from – it pooled there in her core just as he had said.

Closing her eyes, Hermione sent her energy to that exact place and consciously pulled, as though uprooting something from the earth.

The flames instantly became malleable. Hermione found that she could manipulate their movement. She rolled them in a blazing stream through her fingers, a familiar sight to that of her otter patronus as it swam about her.

“Well done,” he whispered. Hermione swelled with pride for her progress.

“Look to the break in the ice,” Lucius directed. “Now _aim_ it. As an arrow from a bow.”

A vision flashed to her mind of the dream - standing across from him in the black river. Hermione turned her head back over her shoulder at him in shock. “ _What did you say?”_

“An arrow, Granger.” Lucius’s other hand took tender hold of her chin and turned her head forward once more to face the lake. “Pay attention like a good student.”  

He released his hold, brushing her hair behind her ear and resting his hand on her shoulder, thumbing it in encouraging strokes.  

“ _See it move from you,_ ” he encouraged. “Be Artemis in the wood _._ Punish that which hath offended you.”  

Looking to the black hole in the lake’s surface, Hermione focused again on the rage she had unleashed.

_How long have I caged it? How long has it had nowhere to go?_

She imagined the feel of a bow in her hands – the force within her that crouched, waiting to be released. She envisioned it happen. Then, with a deep breath, she propelled it forward.

The mass of flames shot out of her hands at shocking speed, crashing violently through the break in the ice, widening the opening. The glow of it flickered for a few moments below, not even extinguished by the water.

Thrill of her accomplishment buzzed wildly in Hermione’s chest.

The power was _exhilarating._ The pride. The absolute pleasure.

She wanted more of it. More control. More of him around her - more of all of this.

“ _50 points for Gryffindor_ ,” Lucius whispered, lowering his mouth to brand a hot kiss on her neck.

A jolt of pleasure ricocheted through her body, shocking her back to harsh reality.

Hermione whipped around to face him, stumbling a few steps back out of his embrace.

_Not safe - I’m too responsive to him - too affected by his advances._

**_“Why are you doing this to me_** _?”_ she demanded, without thinking.

A look of astonishment washed over his face – true disbelief that she didn’t understand it innately. Lucius answered simply - honestly. “Because I _want_ to.”

Hermione stared at him. She felt sick with longing and confusion.

Lucius watched her carefully for a long moment before speaking again.

“What do _you_ want, Hermione? **_Take it.”_ **

Her entire body was reeling. His touch had once again awoken a sharp spark that hummed painfully throughout her. It ached to be touched. Hermione hated the feeling – the lack of control she suddenly had over her own senses.

_I need it back. I need to be the one that steers the course, not just be in helpless reaction to it._

If only she _could_ take what she wanted. Put herself out of this miserable, twisted longing. Exorcise it from her. Without any of the consequences. Have it for _herself_ alone. As in a dream.

Her breath hitched as the idea arrived, whispering dangerously: … _As in a memory._

 _Y_ es.

**_Use him._ **

_Your wand is still in your back pocket._

_Take the pleasure, with none of the repercussions._

_Like it never happened._

She felt insane – more reckless than she’d ever been in her entire life. Her logic was giving to her desperate urge for feeling. But then, how could that change be strange, when everything in her world had altered. She might be dead tomorrow.

_Part of me feels dead already._

The thought was the last push she needed. Hermione looked back to him, savoring a new blissful, steady sensation of control. The decision was made. She led the path once more. She felt every bit as dangerous as him.

Excitement flashed in his eyes. He recognized that something had shifted in her.

Hermione walked determinedly to him until she stood just inches away, looking up into his face.

 _Merlin, you’re beautiful. Like marble come to life. How is it the most elegant forms can hold the darkest spirits?_  

She could feel her whole body rumbling with the danger, the power, the thrill of what she was about to do.

 _This is insane._ Her breaths were heavy and quick. _So alive. I feel so alive._

Reaching out with steadfast determination, Hermione wrapped her hands around the collar of his coat, thumbing the dark, rough wool between her fingers. He watched her in silence.

Then very slowly she pulled herself up, pressing her body eagerly into his, placing a fevered, searching kiss of invitation on his lips.

Lucius stood stone still beneath her embrace, unresponsive to her kiss.

She realized as her lips left his, amazed, that she had let herself close her eyes. She let herself lose even that basic defense to him.  As her lashes fluttered open, she saw that he was regarding her cautiously – calculating something. His hands remained unmoved at his sides.  

The sudden cold detachment from him threw a dagger in Hermione’s stomach.

_What is he doing?_

Lucius’s eyes roamed her face, searching for something – chin tilting slightly to the side in unhurried contemplation.

Eyes on hers, he raised a hand and traced his fingers in a line along her spine, running up and down. Again and again – up and down.

Hermione stood against him, locked in their eye contact, determined to keep herself from trembling.

At the end of a line up, his fingers coiled through her hair in a tight grip at the back of her neck. Hermione felt his other hand trace ever so lightly over her hip and onto the curve of lower back.  

Suddenly, he pulled her head back roughly by her hair.   

Hermione’s breath caught; her hands pinned between them against his chest.

He spoke into her ear: _“You have just opened a door that cannot be closed.”_

A shiver ran through her.

Lucius pulled back to regard her once more, commanding in a whisper: “Close your eyes.”

His thumb was circling in slow caresses at her lower back.

Hermione took a few harried breaths staring back at him, then complied. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribs.

After seconds that felt like hours, his lips claimed hers. He kissed her with tormenting self-control. Slowly yet aggressively urgent all at once. Every movement deliberate.

A sudden bite, harsh at her lower lip, tugging. The tension in her body was melting into his embrace.

Her lips opening to him without a thought. His tongue hot in her mouth.

She heard a faint sigh escape her lips, with no protective filter having contained it.  

At the sound, he released her curls and wrapped his arms possessively around her, deepening the kiss further.

 _Gods. It’s agonizing. Unfathomable. Almost painful, how good._ _How wrong._

He pulled back, hands caressing her as he pressed his forehead into hers, whispering raggedly, “I can _feel_ your magic. Soaking into my skin...”

He took a deep breath in, his hands coming to grip her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. She felt the hard pressure of his erection against her abdomen.

Fear struck her then – just how far did she intend for this to go? She hadn’t thought it through before jumping, and he had his own intentions.

_Keep the control, Hermione. Only what you want._

But then a second voice – hers but somehow different, answered back in her mind: _Are you going to lose your virginity to a Death Eater? What_ **_do_ ** _you want?_

Before an answer formed, he had swept her up into another searing kiss. He was pushing her – she followed his lead, stumbling backward till she felt her back drive up against a large tree. He had her pinned against it, his hands slamming into the trunk on either side of her in a cage.

His knee pushed between her legs, spreading them, forcing her to straddle it. The pressing sensation against her core winded the coil her belly – ached between her legs.

Lucius kissed her again, harder, as he lifted his leg, grinding it against her. She felt the scraping of the bark against her back.

Then his hand was under her shirt. He watched her expression closely as he pushed under her bra – his thumb finding her nipple and beginning to rub in agonizing circles.

Another push of his leg against her core.

“Gods - ” Hermione gasped, her eyes fluttering closed as her head leaned back into the bark.

Lucius took sharp hold of her jaw and brought her gaze to his, continuing the strokes.  

“The gods are _here_. _There is nothing more powerful on this earth than what we are._ Don’t forget it.” He pulled her into another kiss before drawing back and pressing two fingers to her lips.

“Open.”

Hermione did so without hesitation. His fingers slipped into her mouth.

His expression made absolutely clear what he wished her to do. She mimicked his action from the previous night and sucked.

Lucius’ eyes clouded in heady lust as he watched.

The action and his reaction to it triggered something in her. She bucked urgently against him.

At her movement he removed his fingers from her mouth and pushed them down the front of her jeans beneath her underwear, sliding coaxingly against her most intimate place.

Hermione instinctively reached out and grabbed his wrist in a fierce grip, halting him.

Something about crossing this line threw her back into fear. This would surely leave her too vulnerable. It was too hard to remain in control of herself.

To her amazement, he stopped at her hold and paused there, looking into her eyes. His expression a confusing mix of impatience, anger – was that a trace of _injury_?   

“Come to your senses, have you?”

_Unbelievably...No._

_Damn it all - I want this._

_I_ **_need_ ** _this._

 _This feeling is_ **_mine._ **

_Mine to take._

“I never lost them,” she countered, tightening her grip on his wrist. _“Stop talking.”_ She pushed his hand back down.

Lucius snarled a grin, galvanized by her spirited claiming of her power.

He stroked her mercilessly, pulsing a rhythm against the bundle of nerves that sent her entire body soaring. His other hand, constant at her nipple, suddenly pinching her - hard.

She moaned, completely unable to control the sound coming from her. Her hands held against the tree behind her, stabilizing, clinging on for some grounding through the spin. She could feel her knickers soaking wet.

Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside of her.

She gasped and jolted her eyes back to his.

His eyebrow rose in an exultant, goading dare. Relishing her reaction, he began to thrust them in and out, curling and pumping in relentless strokes.

Hermione threw her head back in pleasure, straining to keep her breathing even.

 _Hades have mercy. How can this exist? How can it be_ **_him_** _?_

She felt the pleasure building, wrapping tighter and tighter.

 _“More - ”_ she panted, in hurried command _._

The euphoric movement abruptly stopped and was removed from her.

Lucius leaned into her, savoring her need and his control of it. “Where are your manners?”

Hermione’s eyes darkened, infuriated by the interruption, by his **_nerve_** _._ “ _I won’t say that.”_

He smiled - _the sadistic bastard_. “A simple courtesy. I’m _quite fond_ of begging.”

_“I’m not one to beg.”_

He had clearly expected this reaction and took it as a challenge, marking her with a defiant glare.

Without a shred of mercy, he pushed up her shirt and took her nipple in his mouth.

It was impossible to fight the flood of arousal that heightened instantly. She had never felt anything close to it before.

Like any other young woman, she had of course masturbated - touched herself in bed at night, trying to figure out how to make her body sing; but she’d never produced results like this. Never had a real flesh and blood man touching her. She’d never imagined it would be a man like Lucius: ruthless and hell bent on making her beg for it.  

The strokes resumed at her sensitive clit, inducing another moan she couldn’t hold in.

He flicked his tongue – eyes meeting hers with wicked mischief.

That was it. There was no use in fighting him when she’d erase it all anyway. She _couldn’t_ fight it anymore – she needed release.

The words came in a frustrated groan. “ ** _Please_** , you bastard -”

Lucius’ grin was the smuggest she’d ever seen it.

At the word, he immediately thrust his fingers inside her once more and resumed the movements even harder than before.

“Now, was that so hard?” he asked, watching her every reaction.

Hermione glared at him – _hating_ him – but _loving_ how he made her body reel.

The tension was building again - every thrust, coupled with the look in his eyes, bringing her closer and closer. Then, just when she started to lose control, he rubbed his thumb against her clit.

Hermione cried out, bracing herself against the tree as the exquisite rush of pleasure grew – writhing and rolling her hips into him as the sensation built higher and higher.

She felt herself on the precipice, sounds she didn’t know she could make coming from her mouth.

 _“Come.”_ Lucius ordered.

His possessive demand sent her over the edge – moaning and grinding wildly against him, legs trembling. Before it settled the wave grew and peaked again – shuddering her entire body as she rode the euphoric feeling.

All thought stopped. Lucius watched her every reaction hungrily – triumphant.

It was ecstasy; she felt drugged with pleasure. All she desired was to stay in that feeling forever.

But before she could let herself enjoy the blissful lull of it, panic rang out in her chest.

 **_Now_** _. This is the chance – do it now._ **_Before it’s too late._ **

Lucius began to unbuckle his belt. The second she saw his eyes leave hers, Hermione reached for her wand in her back pocket and shoved it beneath his jaw.

He froze – eyes snapping back to hers.

To Hermione’s great shock, the realization on his face - flickering briefly to rage - gave to an expression of profound _praise and admiration._

He looked at her as though she were the most incredible – the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Her cold-blooded deception had thoroughly and truly _impressed_ him.

He smiled. “Can’t bear to look me in the eye after that?”

“I won’t have to.”

“You planned it from the start; to have your cake and eat it too. Greedy little witch, aren’t you?”

“I took what I wanted, just as you said. Now it’s done.”

“ _It will happen again.”_

“No. I won’t let it.”

“Even after you take the memory, **_you’ll_ ** _still remember_. Still have my taste in your mouth. What’s more: you are covetous of knowledge, Hermione. You find no satisfaction in your learnings until you know your subject _completely.”_

Hermione shuddered at his hauntingly accurate measure of her.

She buried the feeling immediately.

**_No._ **

“ _Obliviate.”_

  



End file.
